


What a Fucking Nightmare

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Addiction, Alcohol, Communication, Declan is a domestic motherfucker y'all, F/M, Gansey is trying oh god he is trying, M/M, Non magic AU, Recovery, References to Drugs, References to Sex, References to Suicide, Ronan is gonna GET BETTER, SHITTY SHITTY AU, Sexual Content, Vomiting, declan lynch is doing his fucking best, i use the word fuck for a majority of uses, more tags to come, non magic but THERE ARE STILL PSYCHICS, ronan lynch is a mess, there is going to be a little bit of kavinsky but it won't be in the present kavinsky, this is like........an angst angst fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-29 20:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: “I still miss you,” Gansey said quietly, twisting the knife in deeper. “You’re like my brother, Ronan.”“You only say that because you don’t have a brother,” Ronan said, in an attempt to avoid any real emotions. “If you did, you’d know it wasn’t a real compliment.”“No,” Gansey said, “I watched Declan tear himself apart over you. I’ve watched Matthew cry himself sick over you.”-OK listen guys, this story LITERALLY comes from a NIGHTMARE I had. It WILL have a happy ending, but there is a lot of nightmare first, so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always this is unedited, so please enjoy this fresh nightmare straight from my sleep to your screen xxxx

Ronan Lynch wasn’t eighteen when his life fell to pieces, but sometimes it felt like it. 

He was sixteen when his dad was murdered, sixteen when Ronan was the one who found him, blood, brains, and all. This was probably the starting point, the waterhouse, the  _ cause _ of all the later consequences. 

He was seventeen when he started putting together just how much of a catastrophic asshole his father had been. To his clients, to the world, to the artifacts he stole and pawned and treated with abandon. To Declan, making him take on far too much for any child. To Aurora for keeping her away from the world, and then spending all of his time in the world she wasn’t allowed in. To Ronan for treating him as if he were the only son he actually loved. 

Not that this realisation did that much for his relationship with Declan, that had soured and crumpled with their father’s body in the driveway. Nah. He knew now, better than he had before, how fucked up Declan’s entire life had been by their father, knew now how fucked up their whole family was. The Lynch’s, the three fucked up brothers. No. Matthew got out almost unscathed. Almost. 

Still. He couldn’t bring himself to treat Declan with the kind of care he treated Matthew, maybe it was because Matthew was so unharmed that he could treat him with kindness. Ronan didn’t deserve any kindness, right? So neither did Declan. 

Between his seventeenth and eighteenth years alive he had this --- hope. This hope that he was gonna be ok. That he had friends, he still had most of his little family. That he could eventually shuck off all the feelings curdling inside him, sucking the air out of him. He felt like he was on the knife edge. He couldn’t stay where he was without being hurt, he had to choose to make the leap. 

He didn’t get to choose, not really. He tried, he did try. 

He was eighteen when he kissed Adam, felt Adam kiss him back. Eighteen when Adam found him later, on the porch in the darkening evening. Eighteen when Adam met his eyes only briefly and said he didn’t want to do long distance. 

If Ronan had had more time, he would have fought back. He would have given Adam the time he needed. He would have gone to Adam, would have tried again, would have offered to make it not long distance, would have shown his heart, really, truly, properly. 

He was eighteen and a few fucking days old when his ma died. 

Declan would probably have shown more grief if Ronan had been able to hold himself together, keep the fire and fury under his skin for a few moments longer. Ronan wouldn’t have been so offended at how stiff Declan was. Things wouldn’t have gone to shit. 

No. Things had already gone to shit. 

Things wouldn’t have piled on worse and worse and worse until the noise in Ronan’s head, the fucking ache in his bones was too loud for him to handle. 

He just had to make it fucking stop. He’d tried once before and it hadn’t worked. It had just made him feel guilty, and dirty, and worn out, and really - really he didn’t  _ want _ to be dead. Didn’t want to do that to Matthew. To Gansey. To Parrish. Blue. Declan. 

Gone was better than dead. Drunk was better than dead. Drugged up and delirious was far better than being dead. Easier to pretend he was happy. 

-

He was twenty one when Declan found him again. Dragged him to rehab. Then to another rehab. Then to a third rehab which grounded harder than the rest. 

Twenty one and Declan shows him pictures of Matthew and threatens to tell Matthew exactly what Ronan’s been up to for the last three years if Ronan doesn’t actually start giving a fuck. Informs Ronan that he’s engaged. That he wants Ronan in his life even if Ronan doesn’t want him in his. That Gansey misses him and misses him and misses him. Gives him the choice to stay here, keep clean, or, just go, and don’t come back. 

He doesn’t think Declan really means it. The don’t come back bit. He’s heard it before, albeit in less horrifying situations. Declan’s always taken him back. 

He doesn’t know if he can risk it though. Not this time. 

And. And he’s tired. And lonely. 

-

“I still don’t understand how you even managed without any of your money,” Declan said, four weeks after Ronan had moved from rehab to Declan’s, while he folded laundry down in the basement that was half laundry half Ronan’s sulking room. Ronan was sitting with his back to Declan, absent mindedly tapping at the boxing bag hanging from the beams. “Especially not with the lifestyle you were leading.” 

Ronan shrugged. He’d been clean for maybe three and a half months, and he’d never felt fucking dirtier in his life. He still hadn’t seen Matthew, he and Declan agreed that would be an easier reunion once Ronan had put on a bit more weight, once his skin regained some real colour. He was hidden away here at Declan’s, being forced into AA meetings, private therapy sessions, physical therapy appointments. All at Declan’s bidding. 

“I had the bank contact me whenever you touched your account,” Declan continued lightly, as if Ronan hadn’t just shrugged away the conversation topic. “They never did. You never touched the money.” 

“You’d have found me sooner if I had,” Ronan said. 

“You hide very well,” Declan acknowledged, huffed out a frustrated noise between his teeth, stayed quiet for the folding of three towels. “How did you make it without the money?” 

Ronan laughed, not nicely. “You don’t wanna know, man,” he said, “but I bet you’ve guessed already.” 

He turned to look over his shoulder, let Declan make steady eye contact with him. 

“I made some money boxing,” Ronan allowed, “some money just fighting. ‘Til I couldn’t.” 

“Until you couldn’t,” Declan repeated. He was eying up Ronan’s skinny arms, muscle still there, but wasted from lack of nutrition and care. 

“Don’t make me say it,” Ronan groaned. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“As if I could,” Declan replied, as light as if they were discussing dinner plans. 

“You’ve made me get clean,” Ronan pointed out, “made me let you lock me up here in your prison of neutral colours and fucking white leather couches. Made me -” 

He cut himself off to pant out a long exhale, long enough for Declan to place the last piece of dry washing back, folded, into the basket and lift it up onto his hip. 

“Come upstairs,” Declan said, because his coming down here to fold the washing had been a farce, “let’s have dinner.” 

-

Gansey had been coming around every second day since Ronan had moved into Declan’s spare bedroom. The first week he had come, Ronan hadn’t even seen him. He’d locked himself into his bedroom, thankful for the ensuite which meant he could throw up in peace. He didn’t wanna see anybody, much less anybody who cared about him, who would be upset at the state of him. Gansey could see Declan instead, swap politician words. 

He’d come out for the second week, because he hadn’t actually been practicing denying himself that much the past three years. 

Actually. That was a lie. 

He hadn’t denied himself the escape, the pain, the void of drinking until you’re out of your body, of being drugged so high you can’t tell yourself from the moon, of being fucked until you can’t even breathe. He hadn’t denied himself anything that would make his brain turn the fuck off, make his body light up in fire - either with bliss or pain or both - and then quiet down. 

He had denied himself almost everything he had wanted and wanted and wanted and dreamed for up until his ma died. A home. A hand gentle in his. Causing laughter. Laughing. Learning. Holding up.  _ Adam _ . Warmth. 

Fuck. 

He didn’t want to deny himself of Gansey anymore. Didn’t want to try to deny that he wanted to see Gansey. Wanted to see Gansey so bad because he remembered how warm Gansey’s hugs were, how known he felt when Gansey smiled at him, how still he could be when Gansey’s hand was on his shoulder. 

He’d let himself out of his room, and into Gansey’s arms, and Gansey had let him. 

-

  
“I was thinking,” Gansey said, week five of Ronan’s Declan confinement (Declan did not appreciate Ronan calling it this), “I’m planning on moving soon, I’m taking an internship in the city and it seems like a fools errand to travel in and out all the time for uni and for the internship, so I’m going to find a nice apartment in the city central.” 

“Okay,” Ronan said, hands behind his head as he lay on his back on the ground, watching the shadow of Gansey on the wall, sitting in the chair with the sun behind him. He was too radiant for Ronan to be allowed to look at directly. 

“Blue is moving with me, obviously,” Gansey continued, his hands’ shadows moving erratically as he spoke, “but I thought we could look for a two bedroom anyway.” 

“In case you fight about what foods are allowed ketchup and what aren’t and she kicks you out of the bed again?” 

“Ronan,” Ganey said, though he said it quite fondly, as if he appreciated the fact that Ronan had enough in him right now to rib him. “I thought you might like to move in with us.” 

“Ew,” Ronan said, “and live with a couple?” 

“You do now,” Gansey pointed out, “Ashley lives here when she’s not overseas. You’ve spent three of five weeks living here with a couple. A freshly engaged couple, I might add.” 

“Maybe so,” Ronan said, tipped his head back to allow the barest glimpse of Gansey’s socked ankle. “But I know you’re infinitely grosser than Declan.” 

“Rude,” Gansey said, “just think about it, will you? Blue and I would love to have you. And I - I think it could be good for you. Being more in the thick of things. It must feel very secluded here.” 

“We’re in the suburbs,” Ronan pointed out, “just barely. It’s not like we’re in the fucking boondocks, Gansey.” 

“Well,” Gansey’s shadow shrugged (which Ronan assumed meant Gansey had also shrugged), “You know what I meant.” 

“I mean,” Ronan threw back carefully, “I think you’ve forgotten that I have just spent a good chunk of time very much in the thick of things. Inner city. That shit.” 

Gansey was quiet for long enough that Ronan  _ knew _ he’d hurt Gansey. Not hurt him so much on a personal level, but hurt him in the way that he had reminded Gansey about how fucked up Ronan had been, was, had been, was, fo years. Hurt him in the way that Gansey had been trying to just have them move on, as if they had seen each other every week this whole time. 

“It’s different, here,” Gansey said slowly, like he had just remembered that the path he was stepping on was a potential mine field. Ronan hated that. “Where we’re looking to live. It’s… cleaner.” 

They both winced at his choice of words. 

“I mean to say,” Gansey continued, “that with the high student population, the city’s actually gone the right way with it, and are very good at making sure everyone is safe. They have volunteer units woking the streets all the time, so that even just drunk people get home safe.” 

“Police state,” Ronan mumbled. 

“No,” Gansey said, sighed, “I’m explaining it badly. It’s like --- it’s nothing to do with law enforcement, it’s just people trying to make university and city life safer.” 

“Police state,” Ronan reiterated, “even civilians are encouraged to spy on each other.” 

Gansey sighed again. “I really am explaining it badly,” he said, soft, “but I - I do want you to - I would like you to - I would love to live with you again, Ronan. I have missed you, you know.” 

Like a knife to the gut. Actually, Ronan had taken a knife to the gut, and this was worse. 

What was he supposed to reply to that? Yes, I know you missed me, I always knew you missed me, but I preferred lying in gutters, and on concrete, and in strangers’ beds rather than admitting to myself that I missed you to. Rather than coming home. Rather than letting anyone help me in any useful way. Yes I know you missed me but I was so intent on convincing myself that this was better than being dead that I couldn’t see anything other than that. 

He grunted. 

“I still miss you,” Gansey said quietly, twisting the knife in deeper. “You’re like my brother, Ronan.” 

“You only say that because you don’t have a brother,” Ronan said, in an attempt to avoid any real emotions. “If you did, you’d know it wasn’t a real compliment.” 

“No,” Gansey said, “I watched Declan tear himself apart over you. I’ve watched Matthew cry himself sick over you.” 

Possibly Ronan’s brothers were the best part of him. Gansey didn’t need to have pushed the fucking blade in so far to his guts though. He closed his eyes. 

“I love you, Ronan,” Gansey said, his voice odd like it had become a shadow as well. “When I say you’re like a brother to me, I mean it. I mean it that I love you.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Ronan told him. 

-

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

He thought about it. About moving in with Gansey, about trying to rebuild his life instead of just sheltering under Declan’s wing. He met up with Matthew before he made up his mind. 

He had expected Matthew to be… not hostile, not exactly, but certainly a little standoffish. Wary of him. He had not expected to open Declan’s front door to Matthew and immediately have two armfuls of a curly haired boy who wasn’t even a  _ boy _ anymore. Matthew was as tall as his brothers, and more solid than either of them, his bounce and thick hair making him seem even bigger than reality. 

“Ronan,” Matthew gasped, his arms so tight around Ronan’s waist and neck Ronan could barely heave in his own gasping breath. “Oh my God, Ronan.” 

“Hey,” Ronan rasped, cleared is throat, clung back to Matthew, could feel Matthew’s tears against his neck. “Oh buddy. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

He wondered if this was irritating to Declan, who he had heard come up behind him, the fact that even now, months after Declan had found him, the first time he gets to hear Ronan apologise it to their younger brother. 

“When Declan said he’d found you,” Matthew cried, never one to hide his emotions, “but that you needed some time - I - I was so - I was so scared.” 

Ronan was unused to comforting anyone, but with Matthew it came back to him as easy as fucking up. 

“Buddy,” he murmured, let himself squeeze his eyes shut to hold back his own tears, “I know. But look, look, here I am, yeah? I’m ok. I’m so sorry,” he repeated, scruffing his hand carefully through Matthew’s hair, “I’m so sorry I scared you. And that I’ve been away. But I’m here now. And I promise, I  _ promise _ I’m not leaving again.” He lowered his voice now, in a mimicry of secrecy, “Else Declan’ll ground me.” 

He heard Declan grunt a little from behind him, but Matthew let out a watery chuckle and managed to lift his head a little bit from where he’d wedged it between Ronan’s shoulder and neck. 

“He’d turn off the wifi too,” Matthew said, smiled a little up at Ronan. “C’mon, let’s get lunch.” 

-

It wasn’t  _ that _ easy. On one hand it was almost as if Matthew was entirely happy to just click right back into life with Ronan in it, but on the other… On the other hand, Ronan knew that a large part of Matthew had been hurt, damaged, not just by what had damaged Ronan and Declan, but by Ronan in particular. That he had to be careful with Matthew, look after him. He couldn’t abuse Matthew’s trust, or his forgiveness. Couldn’t disappoint him again. 

So. The best way to do that, probably, was to try and become a human again. To stop hiding. To stop letting Declan treat him like an unruly teenager. 

He moved in with Gansey and Blue. 

-

“So,” Gansey said, in his most Gansey voice, after they’d finished moving Ronan in (not that there was much. A bed, linen, a suitcase of clothes bought by Declan, a couple more suitcases of Ronan didn’t even know what, Declan had had them brought from the Barns (Gansey had another suitcase from Monmouth)). 

“Hm?” Blue prompted, coming back into the lounge with three mugs pinched in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other. “Why do you sound like a politician?” 

Gansey pouted, accepted his coffee and kiss from her anyway. “I don’t do it on purpose,” he said, waited until Ronan had his coffee and Blue had sat down. “I just wanted us to go over the house rules.” 

“God,” Ronan groaned.

Blue didn’t look surprised, so he guessed Gansey had run this by her already. It wasn’t house rules then, it was Ronan rules. 

“We’ve already discussed the cleaning roster,” Gansey continued, not put off by Ronan’s groan. “But I believe very firmly in being very open with what we expect from each other in a shared living enviroment, so as not to step on toes later on.” 

He paused here, but when neither Blue or Ronan jumped in, shrugged and continued. 

“So,” he said, “It’s pretty simple, really. Just obvious stuff like, knock on bedroom doors, uh, tell us if you’re bringing someone over for the night so there’re no awkward surprises in the kitchen the next morning, y’know?” 

Ronan shrugged. Felt very much like he had just moved in with a new parental unit. 

“This is a pretty quiet neighbour hood,” Gansey continued, “which is rather rare so deep in town, but it just means we can’t be a big party house.” 

Ronan waited. He knew what was coming next. 

“And,” Gansey cleared his throat, “uh, we’d like this house to be completely drug free, which means we won’t be doing anything here either.” 

“Henry has been thoroughly forewarned that that means no weed, even in brownies,” Blue chipped in here, sounding a lot less awkward about it that Gansey. “We know you’re clean,” she added, elbowing Gansey as he opened his mouth to speak again, “this isn’t us trying to like… to parent you. This is just - we want this to be as easy for you as possible. We’re a drug free environment. You’re never gonna need to worry about coming home and being triggered by anything harder than a panadol.” 

A large part of Ronan very desperately wanted to jump down both of their throats about how he didn’t need parenting, about how they were treating him like a child, or like an idiot. About how he didn’t need their help, how he wasn’t gonna get  _ triggered _ , how -

All lies. All stupid. 

Blue looked staunch, but… but far too earnest to have been speaking without concern and care. Gansey just looked worried. 

Ronan nodded, ducked his head. 

Gansey cleared his throat. 

“Cool,” he said, cleared his throat again. “So, I guess all the rest is just the stuffing. Clean up after yourselves, etcetera. Anything you would like to add, Blue? Ronan?” 

“You can use my face scrub,” Blue said, “but if you touch my special body wash I will skin you alive.” 

“Sounds fair,” Ronan grunted. 

“And you? Ronan?” Gansey pressed, concern still etched into his face. 

Ronan shrugged. Bit back a million responses about leaving him alone, about - about - about God knows what. 

“Just,” he cleared his throat, Gansey’s awkwardness rubbing off on him. “Just - um. Can I get a bird?” 

“Ooh,” Blue said, “what kind?” 

-

It wasn’t easy, which was fine. That was what he had been expecting. He joined a boxing gym. He bought a fucking giant raven when he went bird shopping with Blue. He spent a full day renovating parts of his bedroom to be bird friendly and explaining to Blue why ‘Chainsaw’ was the best fucking name actually, thank you very fucking much. He spent a full day in bed with his head under his pillow and his breath too short and sharp to get enough oxygen to his limbs. 

He saw Matthew once a week. Sometimes just to go grab lunch or a coffee together, sometimes to go cycling with him, or to the park, or anything else Matthew suggested with a sunny smile. He saw Declan once a week too, sometimes with Matthew, sometimes alone. Declan’s wedding wasn’t until next year, apparently partly because he wanted  _ Ronan _ to be his fucking best man or some shit like that. 

“It makes no sense,” Ronan complained about it to Gansey, the night after Declan had told him this. He was washing dishes while Gansey dried, handed a sudsy bowl to Gansey. “As much as I’d like to tease him about not having any friends, I know he has friends. Good ones. Ones who like dressing up fancy, and organising events, and all that shit. Who’d give a good speech. There’s no way he really trusts me to like, stand up there at his wedding and not embarrass him.” 

Gansey clicked his tongue, something Ronan was pretty sure Gansey had gotten from Cheng, and that Chainsaw was now learning (to Ronan’s dismay) from Gansey. 

“I don’t think it’s unwise of Declan to trust you,” Gansey said, stacked the mostly dry bowl into the rest of the mostly dry bowls. “Why, do you have plans to sabotage his wedding?” 

Ronan scoffed, grumbled his way through several pieces of cutlery, and then tried to answer properly. “I want his wedding to go great,” he grunted. “I do. I don’t wanna fuck up anymore shit for him. It’s just -” he scoffed again, splashed himself a bit with water as he plunged a mixing bowl into the sink. 

Gansey gave him several long moments, and then nudged him into continuing. 

“It’s just?” 

“I don’t trust myself,” Ronan snapped, “how can I? Declan should know the best out of everyone that I fuck things up by just being around them.” 

“You haven’t fucked anything up here,” Gansey offered, flicking his teatowel over his shoulder and placing a slightly damp hand on Ronan’s back. “You’re not fucking anything up.” 

Ronan did appreciate Gansey swearing for him. 

“Not yet,” he said darkly anyway. “But there’s plenty of time.” 

-

They weren’t a ‘party house’, but according to Blue (and Henry) it would be a crime to never have a party, especially not a house warming party. Ronan had tried to point out that Gansey and Blue had moved in a month ago, and Ronan had moved in a fortnight ago, and the house was plenty warm enough, but he was very firmly outnumbered because apparently he wasn’t allowed to cast Chainsaw’s vote for her. 

So. They had a house warming party. Gansey had asked very carefully how Ronan felt about alcohol, and Ronan had replied somewhat acidically that he quite liked it. Gansey had recalibrated his question and tried to ask whether or not it was one of Ronan’s, uhhhhh, addictions. Blue had walked into the room then, after listening from the kitch and just outright asked if Ronan felt like he could be around alcohol at a party, or if he’d prefer a dry party, and answer truthfully or she’d teach Chainsaw how to sing Justin Bieber songs. Ronan had responded that he knew Blue didn’t listen to Bieber, and Blue had responded that she didn’t, but she could still put his music on for Chainsaw. Ronan said he was fine with having alcohol around him, he just wouldn’t drink very much. 

So. 

So. 

They had a fucking party. Ronan didn’t recognise most of the people who came, obviously. They were people Gansey and Blue had met at university, during their lives that they had continued to live and flourish in while Ronan had hidden himself away to rot. Declan turned up, for five minutes, only to hand over a large houseplant as a housewarming gift, to clap Ronan’s shoulder, to sneak a peek at Chainsaw, and then to leave again. Matthew had said he would be there in spirit only, because he had a university event to go to or something. Henry Cheng was there. He greeted Ronan cheerfully, casually, offered him a glass of the micro-brewery beer he’d brought with him. 

Ronan didn’t think he recognised anyone else. It wasn't like he’d been close to many people before shit went down in Henrietta, and he certainly hadn’t gone out of his way to meet new friends afterwards. 

He could mostly tell who were primarily Blue’s friends and who were Gansey’s, attempted to converse with some of them who he didn’t think would drive him instantly batty. Brought Chainsaw out at the request of Blue, introduced her to a group of Zoology majors. Finished the microbrew beer and then quickly downed an orange juice to get the very… organic compost taste out of his mouth, and then carefully poured himself a gin and tonic. Poured another gin and tonic for Gansey because he could see him across the room with an empty glass and a very enthusiastic Henry. 

“I thought I’d see Parrish tonight,” Henry was saying just as Ronan drew even with them. “He barely ever misses a Bluesey party special.” 

“Oh,” Gansey said, his eyes flicking from Henry to Ronan, to the two glasses of gin Ronan carried. 

“G’N'T?” Ronan grunted, shoving the glass towards Gansey. 

“Thanks,” Gansey said, took the glass, “uh, have you tried Henry’s microbrew, Ronan?” 

“Yup,” Ronan said, opened his mouth to say it tasted remarkably like soil, but was interrupted by Gansey who could apparently read his mind. 

“It’s his own brew,” Gansey said quickly, smiling pleasantly, “he’s just set up his own brewery with a couple of friends.” 

“Ah,” Ronan said. 

“I’m not telling people yet, not really,” Henry said with a shrug and a grin, “let people have unbiased opinions of what they think first.” 

“Ah,” Ronan said. 

“So?” Henry asked, lounged comfortably against the wall, “Did your opinion of it change after hearing I made it?” 

“Nah,” Ronan decided on, “I thought it tasted a bit like manure when I drank it, and I still do.” 

“Huh,” Henry snorted, “thank you for your earnest opinion, man.” 

“Anytime,” Ronan said, willed Henry to keep talking about beer. 

Henry was someone whose will was unswayed by others, apparently, and he turned back to Gansey to nudge him again. “So?” he asked, “Where is Adam?” 

Gansey very obviously did not glance at Ronan this time. Simply took a sip of his gin and replied lowly. “He’s not feeling well,” an obvious lie. “I think he said it was just a bad cold.” 

“Poor man,” Henry sighed, “he’s really in the wars right now, isn’t he?” 

Gansey glanced at Ronan this time. 

“Indeed,” he said, politically. 

“I mean,” Henry said, “what with -” 

Ronan wasn’t sure if he desperately wanted to know what was going on in Adam’s life right now or if he really couldn’t stand knowing because then he’d want to know more, and more, and more, and - he downed his gin quickly. 

“Refill,” he grunted, left quickly. 

-

Blue found him about an hour later. She crawled out of the window to come sit next to him on the shallow bit of roof he was using as a makeshift balcony, and handed him a large plastic glass of apple juice. He took it. 

“Kinda cold out here,” Blue said conversationally, shifted until they were side to side, Blue’s heat bleeding into Ronan’s skin. “Worth it for the sky?” 

“Not really,” Ronan said, took a gulp of the apple juice, let Blue tug at his leather jacket until she could squish a little inside it. “Too cloudy.” 

“Yeah,” Blue agreed, staring up into the darkness above them, “barely any stars.” 

Ronan didn’t bother replying, just flexed his semi numb fingers around the cup, waited for Blue to say what she came out to say. 

She didn’t for a long while, just stayed sitting huddled close to him. Didn’t bring up how he smelled like alcohol, or how he’d been out here for ages. Just sat there and pointed out that if you squinted you could almost see the dipper through the clouds. 

“We should have brought it up with you,” Blue said at last. 

“Huh?” Ronan said, startled out of his non-thoughts by Blue’s quiet voice. “Brought what up?” 

“Adam,” Blue said bluntly. “I know Gansey hasn’t mentioned him to you at all. He’s worried about how you’d feel about it.” 

Ronan grunted. 

“It’s not my job to do all the emotional work here,” Blue continued “especially not  _ for _ Gansey or you, but I do think it deserves to be in the open.” 

Ronan glance down at her. 

“We’re still friends with him,” Blue said, “we see him a lot. He knows you’re back. Living with us.” 

Ronan grunted again. What was he even supposed to say in reply to this. 

“If you don’t want him to come around,” Blue said, “you only have to say.” 

Now Ronan scoffed. Then huffed. Drew his knee up to his chest and wrapped one arm around it. Held on tightly. “I’m not a child,” he said. 

“No,” Blue replied, “you definitely aren’t. I’m still asking, though. Will you be… upset if Adam comes here.” 

“No,” Ronan said. Cleared his throat. Stared out over the city. Blue was silent, still waiting. “Yeah,” Ronan corrected himself. “Yeah. I don’t think I’m - fuck, Sargant.” 

“Ok, rude boy,” Blue snorted, patted his leg. 

“I don’t need anyone telling me I’m an asshole just because I don’t wanna see Parrish,” Ronan grunted, “and I’m not like, fuck, I’m not trying to fucking pin any shit on him, I just -” 

Blue waited. 

Ronan had had two straight gins after his G’N'T, and a quick couple of passionfruit vodka shots. His tongue and his brain were loose enough to be stupid. 

“It just still… it still fucking hurts,” Ronan snapped, “it’s just tied up with all that fucking shit, and I don’t wanna - I don’t wanna -” 

He wasn’t gonna be able to finish his thought here, and apparently Blue knew it. She patted his knee again, then pinched his side. 

“Ok,” she said easily, “c’mon back inside. I’m freezing my ass off.” 

Ronan followed her back inside. 


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t that he went downhill after the party. It wasn’t. He started going to boxing more, earning back his muscle and his agility easier than he’d feared. His body still knew what it was supposed to do, even when he didn’t have the energy to do it, and that was half the fight, really. 

He let Blue drag him along to the life drawing classes she went to weekly to keep her hand in, worked solely in black ink, his fingers smudged with it for days after each time. So. He wasn’t obviously going downhill, right? He was doing the fucking painful work of trudging up that fucking hill. 

Maybe he wasn’t talking to anyone unless spoken to first, maybe he wasn’t getting out of bed or out of his sweats until he had to, maybe he was finally using money in the bank to buy some cheap shit liquor every second night to take to bed with him. But. 

It still fucking hurt like shit the morning he woke up a little earlier than he usually did, and go up slowly to go grab a glass of water to rescue his throat from the drought, and he heard Gansey talking in the kitchen. 

He didn’t pause on purpose, but his feet came to a stop anyway, noiseless between his bare feet and the carpet of the hall. Gansey sounded like he was on the phone, but he didn’t sound like he was on one of his formal calls to a professor, a researcher, a politician, his parents - 

“No of course I’m not saying that,” Gansey sighed, his voice carrying easily out into the hall as the door was ajar. “I love having him here. It’s just. C’mon, Declan. He’s not really getting  _ better _ , is he?” 

Ronan’s stomach was in drought now too. His lungs, his heart. If Gansey was talking to Declan, there was only one ‘he’ they could be referring to. Really, in this context, even if it wasn’t Declan, it would still obviously be about Ronan. 

He wasn’t getting better. Gansey didn’t think he was getting better. He wasn’t getting better. 

“I’m just not sure what to do,” Gansey carried on, unaware of the chaos he was causing in Ronan’s bones just a few metres away. “He’s not the same Ronan I knew.” 

It was true. The Ronan Gansey had known back in Henrietta had also been a damaged and raw thing, but there had still been something warm and bright inside of him. That Ronan was dead in a gutter somewhere up North. This Ronan didn’t even know himself. It made sense that no one else would know him. Wouldn’t recognise him. Wouldn’t want him. 

He drew himself away from the door, took himself back to the bedroom that was only his because his bed and bird were in it. He hadn’t unpacked all of his clothes. The clothes he’d worn were on the floor, the clothes he hadn’t (because why the fuck would Declan think he’d were that?) were still in the suitcase. He hadn’t even opened the suitcases from Henrietta. Didn’t want to look at the debris Gansey and Declan had collected up to offer him as a scaping of his old life. As an encouragement to return to that. 

Chainsaw called to him, and he sat by her, holding his hand to her until she nipped at it and came closer to butt it with her head. 

It was earlier than he had been getting up for the past week, but it wasn’t early. Nearly one, the sun streaming through the gap in his dark curtains, the noise of the city loud outside. 

His phone rang from the side table by his bed, and he stared over at it all lit up, but didn’t move. Waited the ringing out, stroked Chainsaw. Once it stopped, he got onto his knees and shuffled over to it, to check who’d called. He’d just picked it up and seen it had been Declan, when Declan called again. 

“What?” Ronan snapped as he answered. 

He felt that if he didn’t answer, Declan would call Gansey, and Gansey would come check on him, and Ronan knew how much of a burden he was to Gansey. 

“Have lunch with me,” Declan replied, unbothered by the lack of a greeting. “I have an hour before my next meeting, and I’m in town.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Have a coffee then,” Declan retorted, sounding busy and harassed, “put your pants on like a big boy and come out with me. We’ll meet at that place Matthew likes. You know, the one with the pink walls.” 

“Ugh.” 

“I’ll see you in about fifteen,” Declan said smoothly, hung up. 

Ronan could just not turn up, but he didn’t want to be a fiasco this early in the day. He got dressed. 

-

Declan didn’t really bother with beating around the bush, not now, not ever. They ordered their coffees (and a salad for Declan), sat down at a small table in the corner, and he got straight to it. 

“Your drinking is worrying Gansey,” Declan said without preamble. 

Ronan shrugged, picked at the corner of the stand holding up their table number (6). “Gansey’s an adult. If he’s fucking worried he can talk to me.” 

“He can,” Declan agreed, “but he has some weird idea that you ought to have your space right now.”

Ronan was pretty sure that wasn’t quite it. More like that Gansey wanted his space from having to look after Ronan. 

“Seriously, Ronan,” Declan continued, “twelve dollar whiskey? What are you even trying to do to yourself?” 

Ronan shoved his hands under his thighs on the seat, declined to answer. 

“I’m honestly more pissed at Gansey than you right now,” Declan sighed, adjusting the knot in his tie as he spoke. “He ought to know better.” 

“Better than what?” Ronan snapped. “I’m not his pet. He shouldn’t need to be fucking googling what is and what isn’t poisonous to me.”

Declan waved one hand in dismissal, his eyebrows drawn down. “No,” he agreed, “but he is your best friend.” 

Ronan’s stomach turned over, aching all the way with it’s hollowness. 

“Yeah,” Ronan nodded sharply, “he is. But I’m not his.” 

Declan frowned at him for one long moment, and then exhaled and pursed his lips, frustrated. “Don’t be a child,” he reprimanded. “I doubt Gansey has a friend scale in which he can only have one best friend.” 

Declan didn’t get it. Probably wouldn’t get it even with a real explanation. Ronan hissed his breath out through his teeth. Their coffee arrived. 

“I’m going,” Ronan said, grabbing his coffee, pleased he’d had the foresight to ask for a takeaway cup. “Thanks for the fucking pep talk, man.” 

“Ronan,” Declan sighed, lifting his hand as if he were going to grab Ronan’s wrist. Ronan tugged himself away, and Declan sighed again. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Declan tried, his voice gritty with frustration still. 

“Intentions don’t fucking matter,” Ronan replied curtly, wished he weren’t such a fucking child. “Fucking learned that the hard way.” 

He thought, or worried, that Declan would chase after him, but he didn’t. Ronan was mostly grateful for that. He took himself and his coffee down the street, across the block, into a park. Lay on a park bench with his coffee until the coffee was dregs and his fingers were cold. 

He didn’t want to go back. Gansey had had enough of him. Blue too, probably. He’d had enough of himself, to be quite honest. A few months ago, at this point in his deep dive into the shittiest parts of his brain, he’d be itching to go find a fucking alley. Go find the guy he could always spot in crowds because of the way he stood. Go find someone who had something to fill him up in the way that nothing else could. 

He couldn’t do that now. He couldn’t. Even if he was still fucked up, even if he wasn’t even getting better, even if he had nowhere he wanted to go right now. He’d fucking promised. He’d fucking promised. 

It would be easier now, easier to get what drugs he wanted, better quality, none of the street shit. He had money he could use.

He wouldn’t though. He wouldn’t. 

He didn’t know this city very well, despite having lived in it for a couple of months now. He only knew his short paths. To the gym. Home. Out with Matthew. Home. Out with Declan. Home. Art. Home. He didn’t know where he’d begin to look - 

That was a lie. He knew where to look. 

He wouldn’t look. It was easier if he tried to pretend he didn’t know where. 

Maybe he could find someone to fuck him. Maybe that would be enough for now. Maybe he could pretend he wasn’t so fucking alone if he had someone to touch. 

-

  
  


Fridays were difficult for Adam. Logically he knew he could make his life a whole lot easier if he cut down his hours at his volunteer shifts, or even his study session, but, well. He was used to it now, and the stress was basically as ingrained to his psyche as possible. He wouldn’t know what do with himself with too much free time. 

Still. Fridays were busier than any of his other nights, and by the time he got to his shift with the volunteer group ‘The Angels’ (dubbed as the ‘Alcoholics Angels’, by the semi regular students they gave lifts home from town, took to the ED, gave water, etc), he was frazzled, and exhausted, and just wanted to go home to his bed. He definitely wasn’t in the mood to go scout the streets of town on its busiest night of the week for students (or anyone really), too drunk, or too rowdy, or just not having a good time. At least one of their team would get thrown up on tonight, someone was definitely going to get hit (usually accidentally), and Adam was absolutely going to climb into his bed at two AM with a pounding headache. 

By one thirty he’d already taken two van loads of drunk students to various student halls, hosed his boots off after an incident with a vomiting drunk who’d apparently just eaten nachos, and he was ready, over ready, to go home. 

Which meant of course, that the first thing he saw when he came out of the 24/7 convenience store, coffee clasped in his hands, was another very drunk student, slumped against the wall like they’d wedged themselves in the small gap between buildings and then just dripped down it, their hands bloody, wrapped around their knees. 

“Damn it,” Adam hissed. He had been hoping that the last half hour of his shift could go quickly, without incident even, and this? This didn’t look like something that was going to go smoothly. 

He took a quick sip of his coffee for fortitude, and stepped over, scanning around as he did for some sign of people who knew this guy, who were friends with him, who knew what had happened to his hands. The nearest gaggle was half the block away, outside a club and discussing very loudly whether or not they ought to get Mcdonalds or KFC, and they didn’t look like they were worried they were missing a person. 

“Hey,” Adam said gently, crouched down a little to try and get a better look at the guy. “You alright?” 

The guys arms tightened around his legs, like Adam speaking to him had startled him, and for a moment Adam thought he knew this dude. From uni? Something about him was familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it yet. 

“M’fine,” The guy grunted, his bloody fingers flexing, and in a moment of déjà vu, Adam’s brain put it together. 

This. Here. In front of him on the pavement, was Ronan Lynch. 

The last time he’d seen Ronan had been at Ronan’s mother’s funeral. He hadn’t gotten to speak to Ronan, hadn’t wanted to interrupt his grief, didn’t think Ronan would appreciate seeing him, because of course; the last time he had seen Ronan before that, he had done something neither of them wanted, and had turned Ronan down. 

He wasn’t sure if he  _ could _ be sure this was Ronan yet, just based on how his stomach reacted to hearing his voice. The Ronan he had seen last had been shaved all but bald, had been bulkier, like a brick wall who’d been to the gym. Had been tan, and healthy, even underneath the grief and anger. Ronan now had a short crop of curls, wan skin, and wrist bones that jutted out too boldly from his leather jacket.  it hurt to look at. 

“Are you here with friends?” Adam asked, trying to flail for something useful he could say here, something he was supposed to say here. “Do you want me to find them for you?” 

“Don’t have friends,” Ronan grunted, then snorted, as if this was a vaguely funny concept to him. 

He sounded pretty sloshed. Ugly sloshed. 

“You’re out here alone?” Adam asked, good at keeping his voice neutral. You had to be in this role, drunk people were particularly sensitive. 

Ronan shrugged. He hadn’t even looked up yet, his forehead still on his knees. 

“What happened to your hands?” Adam tried next, resisted the urge to press his own fingers to Ronan’s skin, to trace the line of them. It wasn’t professional.

Ronan said something mostly unintelligible. Something, maybe, about bastards. 

“I’m with the Angels,” Adam said, wincing as he said it, “do you need a lift home? Is there someone there who can make sure you’re okay?” 

Ronan snorted again, or… it sounded too raw to be a laugh, really. He was shaking his head. 

Gansey had said Ronan was flatting with him. Didn’t that mean that there was definitely someone at home to make sure he was ok? Gansey would do nearly anything for Ronan - Adam had seen it before - cleaning his knuckles wasn’t going to be a deal breaker. Blue had said it was nice, even, having Ronan there. She hadn’t said much, which he got, he didn’t deserve to get to know what Ronan was up to, how Ronan was. He’d waived his right to that the night he’d lied to Ronan about not wanting to be together. 

Still. From the little information Gansey and Blue and Henry had leaked to him, he had thought Ronan was doing  _ okay, _ that Gansey and Blue were so happy to be living with him, that finding Ronan soaked in alcohol and blood at some godforsaken time of morning on the edges of the clubs, was something that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Is that a no to the lift?” Adam asked carefully. 

Ronan shook his head again. Cleared his throat before Adam could reply, and said; “Dunno where’m.” 

“Oh,” Adam said. “That’s okay. I can get you home. Is that okay?” 

Ronan nodded. He didn’t make any move to stand. 

Did he recognise Adam yet? Had he forgotten what Adam sounded like? Did he know and not care? 

“Can I,” Adam tried, “uh, do you need a hand up?” 

“Not that drunk,” Ronan got out, sounding like he’d had to use a lot of effort not to slur that statement. 

He released his knees, rolled a little onto his side, pressed his palms flat to the pavement, and got about half way up before his knees buckled. 

Adam caught him under the shoulders, having stood up as Ronan had attempted to, and helped heave him the rest of the way up. Ronan didn’t drag himself away from Adam’s hands, or his help, and he still didn’t even look up. His last hopes could be the pavement at his feet for how intently he stared at it. Maybe it was so he wouldn’t have to look Adam in the face. 

Ducking a little, Adam could see a smear of blood on Ronan’s chin, but couldn’t make out if it was simply smeared there or originated from there.

“Our ride’s just up the block,” Adam said, kept his hand on Ronan’s back to offer some stability. “Think you can make it?” 

“Can def’ly fake it,” Ronan replied, not at all as smoothly as Adam was pretty sure Ronan had been aiming for. 

As they walked, Adam fumbled out a message to the rest of his team, determining where everyone was, what the plans were, decided that he could just drive Ronan home now, didn’t need to wait to fill his van with other drunks first. 

They got to the van, and Lauren, his driver, opened the door and helped Adam get Ronan in, winced at the bloody knuckles. 

“This one a puker?” Lauren asked, shuffling around to find the first aid kit, “Should I grab a bucket too?” 

“Nah,” Ronan drawled, sounding somehow even more far gone then before, “I swallow.” 

Adam just --- did not want to think about that. 

“Just the first aid kid, thanks, Lauren” Adam mumbled, held his hand out for it. “Ronan? If you give me your hands I’ll clean them up for you.” 

“Yeah,” Lauren was climbing back into the front now, “we don’t want you getting blood on the upholstery!” 

The Angel’s vans were specifically chosen to have upholstery that was easy to clean, Lauren was making a joke, but Adam was at least ninety nine percent sure that Ronan did not get this, because he only scowled in response before flopping his left hand towards Adam. 

His knuckles were roughed up, but not too badly. It just took a once over with a wet wipe, some quick salve, and a couple of plasters. 

As Adam gave Lauren the address, he realised, quite belatedly, that he hadn’t asked Ronan for his name and address like he was supposed to, so he just had to hope that Ronan wasn’t about to be weirded out by his not quite ex knowing where he lived. Not that he would be weirded out. Adam was just overthinking it. Or underthinking it. Something where he didn’t have the correct amount of think about it. 

-

Arriving outside Gansey’s always sent a little flicker of bitterness up his spine, and it wasn’t gone even now, despite his trying to push it down. Before, it had been because Gansey’s place was always so much nicer than Adam’s. In Henrietta there had been no contest, even thought Gansey literally lived in a cold renovated warehouse. Gansey always had comfort in the forefront of his home, and Adam always craved it. Here, it was less about how nice Gansey’s new place was, though it was very nice, and more about the fact that the three of them - him, Gansey, and Blue - had been discussing moving in together before Ronan came back. 

Not that he was jealous of Ronan, because he wasn’t. He was so relieved Ronan was back, was living with Gansey and Blue somewhere  _ safe _ (even if tonight he was out and not safe). He was jealous more of the concept of it. 

He didn’t have time for it tonight though. He helped Ronan out of the car, told Lauren he’d make his own way home, and followed Ronan up the path to the front door before he'd even considered what he was doing. 

“You don’t have to tuck me in,” Ronan said, with remarkable clarity, to the door. “I can fuckin’ do it.” 

There was a pause while Ronan rattled in his pockets, and then he said; “Forgot my keys.” 

Before Adam could say anything useful, or apologise for being weird and following him up his path, Gansey opened the door. 

“Oh my God, Ronan,” he said, relief palpable in his voice, and then, more shocked, “Adam?” 

“What the fuck?” Ronan slurred, reaching out to grab onto the edge of the doorway and turning to look over his shoulder, “You fucking see him too?” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have half a playlist for this fic, and I'm gonna post it with the next chap

Adam should never have come here. He should have called one of the other members of the team when he realised who it was, shouldn’t have forced his presence on Ronan. 

Gansey had stuttered out an affirmation, that yes, Adam was in fact here, and Ronan had sworn with a vehemenance blacker than Adam remembered, and had shoved himself past Gansey into the house, staggering as he went and almost knocking into Blue. 

“Ronan,” Gansey called, glancing from Adam to Ronan like he was trying to figure out if he ought to run after Ronan or not. 

Ronan ignored him, but Blue shook her head at Gansey, followed Ronan as Ronan disappeared through a door. 

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, winced alongside Gansey as a door slammed loudly further in the house. “I didn’t realise that he - I - it was a lapse in judgement.” 

Gansey looked exhausted. Like he’d been sitting about worrying for god knows how long, his wire glasses not at all hiding the shadows under his eyes. 

“What, exactly,” Gansey said softly, “was the lapse in judgement?” 

Adam frowned, scratched at his arm. “Being the one to bring him back?” he said, unsure exactly what Gansey was asking. 

“Oh,” Gansey suddenly looked as if he had deflated. “Oh. Of course, it’s an Angels’ night?” 

“Yes,” Adam said, was suddenly hit by a horrible thought. “Wait,” he said, “you thought I was drinking with him? Or like, that I purposefully made him think I wasn’t real?” 

“No,” Gansey shook his head quickly, looked a mixture of anxious and remorseful as he pushed his glasses up so he could rub at his eyes. “I don’t know - I don’t know what I thought, I’m sorry, Adam.” 

Adam didn’t really blame him. He knew Ronan was a special case. He knew Gansey wouldn’t doubt him over anything else. 

“Where was he?” Gansey asked, readjusting his glasses. “We’ve been trying to get in touch with him all night.” 

“Just off main,” Adam said, felt the wave of exhaustion, of two AM running on shitty coffee and adrenaline, hit him hard. “He was - I honestly don’t know if he’d been at a club, or one of the flats around there. He was just on the pavement.” 

“And,” Gansey sounded as tired as Adam, as old and scared as Adam. “Is he - he’s not sober, I know. But is he -?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s just alcohol,” Adam mumbled, folded his arms tighter around himself. “I didn’t get a good look at his face, but, yeah. I mean. Not that  _ that _ drunk is just anything, but. I don’t know, Gansey. I don’t know. It’s not my business, I know.” 

Gansey nodded his head, just the once. He was looking Adam over, like a mother checking a child for grass stains. 

“Are you alright?” Gansey asked, voice far too kind for this whole situation. “This must have been a - a shock.” 

Adam wasn’t sure how he was feeling, not yet. He was too busy plastering over all his emotions to keep himself awake and functioning, and he didn’t want to know, not really. He shrugged. 

“Worse for him,” he said. “I should go.” 

Gansey didn’t deny this. “How are you getting back?” He asked, squinted out into the darkness. “Lauren gone?” 

“I’ll walk,” Adam shrugged, “catch a bus.” 

“Let me catch you an uber,” Gansey said, reaching out to place his hand lightly on Adam’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing him home.” 

“I don’t need thanks,” Adam said, intensely uncomfortable at the idea of being paid back for something that (a) he volunteered for, and (b) probably made Ronan feel extremely shitty. 

“Please,” Gansey said, squeezed Adam’s shoulder lightly. “I’ve spent the last eight hours worrying and worrying. Let me get to know you’re home safely.” 

Adam considered. Nodded. 

Gansey got him a glass of water to drink in the doorway while they waited for the uber, and then he gave him a quick hug goodbye. Neither Blue or Ronan reappeared. Adam got into the uber. Got home. Let himself into his small flat that he had found (miraculously), in his price range to live alone. Went to the bathroom. Stared at himself in his little mirror, and then at his hands on the counter until he could make himself stop crying. Went to bed. 

-

Blue was outside Ronan’s bedroom door, because she was tenacious, and had long stopped being put off by Ronan’s prickly exterior. 

“Ronan,” she said, her voice low but still very audible through his door straight into his head, because he was sitting with his back against it. “Hey. Let me in. You don’t gotta talk about this right now, but I know you need company.” 

He hated that she was right. Hated that he relented and reached up with one shaking hand to open the door for Blue. 

She shut it again behind her, slid down to sit next to him, put her head on his shoulder, fumbled until she had Ronan’s hands in hers, held them tight. 

“Surprised Declan didn’t send out a search party,” Ronan mumbled, after he’d soaked up enough of Blue’s presence to feel more human than not. 

“He thinks you should be able to make your own decisions,” Blue replied, squeezed Ronan’s hands, rubbed her thumb carefully over the bandages which  _ Adam _ had put on him. “As do I. And Gansey.” 

Ronan sighed rather than reply. 

“We were all worried though,” Blue continued, “you fucking scared us, you asshole.” 

This was easier. He closed his eyes, tilted his head down until he could rest his head on Blue’s. He didn’t apologise. He wasn’t… enough, not right now, to be able to get that out with any semblance of sincerity. Could at least let her know one apology he wouldn’t need to make.

“I only had booze,” he mumbled, turned his hand so that Blue could slot her fingers between his. “I fucking promise. Okay? I didn’t - I’m fucking clean.” 

“Okay,” Ronan felt her nod just slightly against his jaw. “I trust you, Lynch, okay.” 

That put him more at ease than he had thought it would. Just her trust, her immediate belief.  _ He _ knew he wasn’t lying, but it was easy to feel like he was when people doubted what you said. What you promised. Especially when he knew how he looked right now. He exhaled slowly, trickling breath out for far longer than he had any real air in his lungs. 

Blue waited, which he also appreciated. Maybe it was from growing up in a house full of psychics, or maybe it was from being with Gansey for so long, but she had an innate knowledge of when staying quiet and just  _ being _ would persuade someone into speaking. 

“I thought,” Ronan said, a little hoarse. Cleared his throat, tried again. “Gansey told me about the Angels. But I - he didn’t say Ad- Parrish was one of them, and I - God. When this guy - fucking  _ Parrish _ , said he was with the Angels, I just.” 

He paused again, because all he could feel was how stupid his words felt. Blue squeezed his hand in encouragement, and he started again. 

“I thought I was imagining that it was him. That this time he’d --- I thought I was imagining him because I’m a fucking fool, and I didn’t wanna look up and see it wasn’t him and have to deal with the disappointment.” 

Blue squeezed his hand again. Ronan breathed slow, steady. His stomach felt disgusting, curdling and roiling with shame and too much alcohol with not enough food. 

“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Blue offered, and then quickly amended her statement. “Well. I do. You’re a huge ass fool, Lynch, but I don’t think - I don’t think that’s one of the reasons you are one.” 

Ronan scoffed. This further disturbed his stomach. 

“Declan called after dinner,” Blue said, “said he’d been calling you and you weren’t replying. Said he’d pissed you off.” 

“It was a joint effort.” 

“Joint, as in you and Declan together?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan admitted, “but - nah. Yeah.”

“Nah?”

It was, God, it was - this morning I heard - fuck -” 

Apparently the type of truth telling he had been doing, was attempting to do, was nauseating, and his stomach heaved threateningly. He straightened up, lifting his head from Blue’s. 

“I’m gonna fucking hurl,” he said. 

-

Gansey found them in the bathroom, just a few minutes later. Ronan didn’t see him because he was face down in the toilet, but he heard the soft squeak of his slippers on the tile of the bathroom floor, and Blue’s hand on his back shifted a little as if she’d turned to look at Gansey. 

Ronan tried to ignore the rest of his emotions and stupid brain ideas that weren’t about throwing up. Tried to ignore the throwing up bit too, because it was never pretty to see everything you’d drank presented as one large cocktail with a special ingredient of stomach acid and bile. 

He stayed face down over the bowl for a few long moments after he’d finished heaving, until Blue’s hand arrived cool on his forehead. 

“Finished?” She asked. 

He nodded, shook his head. Dry heaved a few more times. Spat out spit. Nodded, sat back on his heels and closed his eyes again as she flushed the toilet. 

“Ronan,” Gansey said by his shoulder. 

Ronan’s stomach twisted again. His eyes were only watering because of the puking. Only because of that.

“I don’t need a fucking lecture, Dick,” he gritted out, feeling sicker again with every word. A nice mix of guilt and the taste of puke on his tongue. “Just don’t.” 

He heard Gansey’s inhale, was bitterly pleased it wasn’t followed by words. 

“Okay,” Blue said, her exhaustion heavy in her voice. “Shower, and then bed. We can sort this out in the morning.” 

Ronan nodded, his head a dark weight. Blue’s hand was on his shoulder again, firm. 

-

He woke up a handful of hours later, his stomach aching, his head pounding. As far as hangovers went, this one wasn’t too bad. He’d certainly gone through far fucking worse with withdrawals more recently. It was enough though, that he forced himself out of his bed to go get some water. 

Blue had left him in bed with a waterbottle, but he’d drank most of it in the night, and spilled the rest on his blankets by mistake. 

She and Gansey were both in the kitchen when Ronan walked in, and she smiled sleepily at him, and then pointed at the empty chair opposite her at the table. 

Ronan glanced from the chair, to Blue, to Gansey fiddling with the coffee maker on the other side of the room, and then slumped down into his appointed chair. 

“Coffee?” Gansey asked, “Water?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sugar with mine,” Blue said. “Then come sit down, babe.”

There was a plate of pikelets in the middle of the table, some of them still steaming slightly in the chilly morning air. Ronan wished he’d put a jumper on before leaving his room. Blue pushed the plate towards him, and he shoved three pikelets at once into his mouth. 

“Headache?” Blue asked, she didn’t sound very sympathetic. He shrugged. “Any more puke?” 

“Nah,” he said through his mouthful of pikelet. “Nothing left. 

Gansey put Blue’s coffee down in front of her (in her giant bear shaped mug), and then Ronan’s coffee down in front of him, along with a glass of water, and a blister pack of ibuprofen he fished out of his dressing gown, before sitting down with his own cup of coffee, and an orange juice. 

“What,” Ronan grunted, popping a couple of the pills out into his hand, “is this an intervention?” 

“Yes,” Blue said bluntly.

Ronan dropped the pills, his hand shaking a little too much. He swore, fumbled to pick them up, blinked hard to try and stop the pricking. Blue spoke again. 

“You can make your own decisions,” she said, “but we have as much right to express out concern about those decisions.”

Ronan chucked the ibuprofen into his mouth. Downed his entire glass of water in one go. Stared at the table. 

“I’m sorry,” Gansey said, his voice so quiet. “That we haven’t been more use. We don’t - I don’t know how much I should… should interfere. How much you want me to. But I - Jane’s right. We are concerned.” 

“Concerned enough to call my brother for back up,” Ronan agreed. 

Gansey didn’t say anything. 

“If I’m not  _ recovering _ fast enough for you, I can move out.” 

He could see just Gansey’s hand in his periphery. Watched as they tensed around his mug. 

“I don’t want that,” Gansey said, his voice painful in the kind of way which meant that Ronan had caused the harm. “And there’s no - there’s no fast enough, or too slow, Ronan. This isn’t about me.” 

“Except it is,” Ronan argued to the table top. “Because you’re here, and you shouldn’t have to spend your fucking time trying to rein me in. In stopping me from being a fuck up. You just have to say the word and I’ll go.” 

“Stop being nasty,” Blue said, “you dumb ass. Why would you say this shit?” 

“I didn’t mean for you to hear me,” Gansey said, “I wouldn’t have said that to Declan if I knew you could hear me. I didn’t know your heard me. I shouldn’t have said it anyway.” 

“You should’ve,” Ronan countered, “you can say whatever the hell you want.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey said, and now he finally sounded a little defiant. “Stop this. What is it you’re trying to do? Are you trying to convince yourself, or me, that I don’t love you? That I don’t want you here? That I don’t think you’re worth looking after and worrying over?” 

No amount of blinking was going to stop the pricking of his eyes, so he simply closed them instead. 

“I’m scared,” Gansey continued, wavery, “I’m scared because I just got you back and I feel like a piece of my heart is back, but I could still lose you. I don’t want to lose you again. Ever.” 

There was a lump in Ronan’s throat that he couldn’t swallow. A burning like he’d swallowed the painkillers dry and they’d burned down his esophagus. 

“Ronan,” Gansey pressed, “please. Please. Tell me I’m allowed to help. Tell me you want me here. To help you.” 

Blue was doing her staying quiet thing to persuade other people to spill the truth and it was working way too fucking well. Or maybe it had all just come to a head and the truth was going to spill anyway. 

He didn’t know how Gansey could bear to be so vulnerable, to be able to just say that kind of thing. He’d always been like that, with Ronan at least. Had always been there when Ronan needed him, to hold him, to patch him back up, to shave his hair for him. It didn’t make sense that he wasn’t tired of it all. 

“I need you to help,” Ronan admitted, voice sore from trying to swallow that fucking lump. “Please.” 

Gansey took his hands from across the table, warm from holding onto his coffee. 

“Tell me what you need from me,” Gansey said, “what can I do?” 

Ronan shook his head. It wasn’t something he could articulate. Don’t let me be alone? Take me out of my head? Don’t believe me when I say I’m fucking fine? Or that I’m fine around alcohol? Take it away from me? Give it back? 

“What about the whiskey?” Blue prompted gently. “The drinking?” 

“I need it,” Ronan managed to get out. Felt like none of him was working properly, like taking Gansey’s hands and offer of help had short circuited him. 

“It feels like it,” Blue agreed. “But I know you know you don’t.” 

“I do,” Ronan shook his head, embarrassingly felt tears hot on his face. “It’s too much. It’s too much.” 

Gansey’s chair scraped back, but he didn’t let go of Ronan’s hands as he rounded the table, sat down on the chair next to Ronan. Only let go of his hands so he could wrap his arms around Ronan instead. So he could drag him against his chest to just hold him, to give him a bit more stability. 

Ronan fucking always craved touch. During the last few years he’d felt as addicted to it as he had been reliant on the drugs. The more he felt he needed it, the less satisfying each new touch was. He hadn’t had lovers, fuck that. He’d had compliant dealers, willing to put him up with a bed and a fix for a good lay. He’d had people he’d found out as high as him who didn’t see further than his ass. He’d had touch as a bargaining chip, and it had felt smaller and smaller and smaller to him. 

Clutching onto Gansey right now was like sinking into a hot bath. There was nothing in this moment that Gansey was going to take from him. Was going to ask from him. He wasn’t holding Ronan in return for anything, he wasn’t holding Ronan as a prelude to anything. He was holding him for the sake of holding him. For fucking love’s sake. 

He felt like he was going to burst, like a water balloon filled too tight, squeezed. He couldn’t keep the sob down.

-

No one brought Adam up again until quite a few days later. A few days later in which Ronan had had six half fights with Gansey over going out, and six half apologies to Gansey. In which, on Gansey and Blue’s advice, he’d called up the therapist he hadn’t seen since he’d left Declan’s nest, and somewhat sheepishly asked to make another appointment. He’d gone out for ice cream with Matthew and Declan, agreed to be the life model for the next session of life drawing, and thrown up a good couple of handfuls of times while his body tried to convince him he definitely ought to be drinking, or at the very least, fucking up in some way. 

Ronan was the one who broached the subject. Knew it had to be him to do it. 

“Is Parrish okay?” he asked over dinner (asparagus and lamb sausage quiche with steamed green beans, because Gansey was a bougie bitch). 

Gansey coughed, or choked, a little around a bean. Blue raised her eyebrows. Henry, who was somehow over for dinner a lot more than expected, tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips expectantly at Gansey. 

“Depends on how you mean, really,” Henry offered, when neither Blue or Gansey appeared in a rush to answer. 

“Well,” Ronan grunted, stabbed at a chunk of sausage. “I fucking meant, is he fucking  _ okay _ .” 

“He’s doing very well at university,” Gansey said. “He’s studying medicine. He’s in the top of his class.” 

“Obviously,” Ronan scoffed, glared at the sausage on his fork. “That’s not what I’m asking.” 

“He just got broken up with,” Henry said, casual as anything, “so I imagine he’s a little put out about that.” 

That also wasn’t what Ronan was asking. 

“He blamed himself for a long time,” Blue said, finally. “It took a while for us to convince him that we didn’t.” 

Ronan nodded, chewed so as to avoid answering. 

“I still don’t know, not really, what exactly went down between you two,” Gansey said, his knee knocking against Ronan’s under the table. “But I knew the both of you regretted how it ended. I know he drove himself crazy over it.” 

“I can’t speak to most of this,” Henry chipped in, “I wasn’t there for enough of it, but man. I learned all I ever needed to learn about card reading from watching him trying to find you.” 

Ronan flicked his gaze from Blue to Gansey, hated, hated,  _ hated _ , how large the gap in his knowledge was about what all of them had been up to in the years he’d been gone. 

“Declan wasn’t keen on telling you,” Blue said, “but he found you because of Adam.” 

“What the hell,” Ronan said, finally swallowing because there was only so much chewing one could do before good food just became yuk mush. “I know your freaky family thought he was all witchy, Sargant, but now you’re telling me he’s the real deal?” 

“He has a knack,” Blue said, narrowing her eyes at him but otherwise letting the ‘freaky family’ bit slide. “We all had to find ways to move forwards with our lives, distract ourselves. He chose something that wasn’t really a distraction.” 

“He’s good,” Gansey admitted, “I don’t know how much is intuition and how much is… is  _ magic _ , but.” 

This was all just ridiculous. He fucking wished he could have a drink. This felt like the kind of thing you ought to be talking about while drinking. 

“So,” he said, “none of you were gonna tell me that Parrish is literally psychic, huh?” 

“We just did,” Henry said, “but yeah. These two put a Parrish ban down on the conversation. But now,” he continued, “I can tell you that I got him to do me a reading about my beer, and he told me that the spirits were not in my favour.” 

“He didn’t have his cards,” Blue snorted, “you  _ know _ he was pulling your leg, Hen.” 

“He’s psychic,” Henry said solemnly. “I trust that man with my beer, or, not my beer now.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my playlist! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4NklBNLv62zHMY82MOx7mi 
> 
> Also, look, if you don't like Adam or Pynch, please believe me when I say that you DON'T need to read this fic, and you DEFINITELY shouldn't bother telling me that you hate ADAM on a fic that's tagged as PYNCH. No one benefits in this situation. 
> 
> ANYWAY. Thank YOU everyone else for the lovely comments, and for, as always, putting up with my lack of editing! I'm really enjoying writing this fic.

It wasn’t fun. Submitting himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known, or whatever. Letting Gansey and Blue actually help, rather than just being powerless onlookers. He wasn’t exactly keen on the decision the three of them made together for the flat to be an entirely alcohol free area as well, but he could still see the merit of it through the annoyance. It was easier to handle because the two of them told him they’d stay dry too, that the three of them could go it together. 

He knew it wasn’t like Gansey and Blue were going around telling their friends that they were suddenly teetotalers only because Ronan was an addict with self control issues, but he still felt horribly self conscious around them. Because, well, they had to know, really. They had to know who he was, what he was. Not that it really changed how he acted, seeing as he already tended to stick mostly to himself around other people. Talk in grunts. He wasn’t currently interested in expanding his social circle, only in keeping those he already had. Maybe he was being a bit more withdrawn, the shame eating away inside of him, but he  _ assumed _ it was better than feeling shamed and also being drunk. 

He wanted Gansey to see him get better. He wanted Matthew to feel safe. He wanted Declan to not have to give up on him. He wanted - 

-

“I said I wanted help,” Ronan snapped, half past eleven on a thursday night. He was halfway out the front door, jacket and boots on, Gansey’s hand on his forearm. “Not a fucking nanny.” 

“And I’m just saying,” Gansey retorted, not backing down in the slightest, “is that I think going out to a bar and not drinking sounds like it would be a lot more trouble than its worth.” 

“Well I’m not getting a fucking app,” Ronan shook his arm slightly. Less trying to dislodge Gansey, more trying to express his annoyance. “So what the fuck else am I gonna do?” 

“What?” Gansey sounded too confused for someone Ronan had thought knew what he meant when he had told Gansey that he was going to a bar to try and pull. “An app?” 

Ronan shook his arm again, this time to dislodge Gansey before he could feel Ronan’s fucking shame eking out of his skin. 

“Grindr?” He snapped, “Tinder? A fucking hook up app. I’m not getting those.” 

Maybe it was because Gansey hadn’t had to even glance in at the dating scene since he’d been eighteen. Maybe it was because Gansey just hadn’t considered that part of Ronan’s life. Either way, Ronan had to watch while Gansey figured it out, his eyebrows rising and then knitting. 

“Ronan,” he said. 

“Oh for fucks sake.” 

“Generally,” Gansey said, his hand coming back from where it had withdrawn to his chest when Ronan had shaken him off, to rest lightly on Ronan’s shoulder. “Generally people waiting around to hook up aren’t really the best type of people -” 

“Okay, sure,” Ronan shrugged hard, “just stereotype a whole fucking bunch of people. It's not like I don't have years of experience. Anyway. It’s not like I’m going to be spending any real  _ time _ with them, man.” 

Gansey’s eyebrows continued to knit. Soon they’d probably try the cable stitch. 

“I can’t drink,” Ronan snapped, “or shoot up, or even fucking hit Cheng up for some edibles. You gotta let me have some fucking vices.” 

“I thought swearing was your favourite vice,” Gansey tried, his tone obviously aiming for levity but landing instead somewhere over near anxious. 

“I don’t consider it a vice,” Ronan shrugged again. Gansey’s hand stayed put. 

“It just,” Gansey paused, like he was trying to re-calibrate what he was thinking and shape it into something that wouldn’t piss Ronan off. “It’s so. Not you.” 

Ronan would have laughed, but he was already uncomfortable enough that any sudden movements might just break him. “I’ve changed,” he said, “I’m not the same fucking guy, remember?” 

Gansey winced. He finally let go of Ronan’s shoulder, but only to shift his hand to Ronan’s nape, then to his cheek. 

“You have changed,” Gansey agreed, “you have. All of us have. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Exactly,” Ronan gritted out, couldn’t help but feel somewhat comforted by Gansey’s warm palm on his cheek. “It’s not a bad thing, Gans. So let me fucking go out.” 

“I still don’t think - I still feel like this is just a way - a way for you to hurt yourself more,” Gansey said, slow, steady. “I don’t think this is good for you.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan groaned. “I’m not allowed to have sex now? Come on, man. It’s socialisation, isn’t it?” 

Gansey sighed, took his hand back from Ronan’s face. 

“Will you be safe?” 

“As life,” Ronan offered, whisked a condom out of his pocket. “And from 99% of STDs, yeah.”

-

So maybe he had a beer or a few at the pub. He didn’t want to look like he was desperate for a fuck, or like he was weird. Plus he didn’t actually want to go into this sober. It was pretty fucking rude of Gansey, really, to remind Ronan what he already knew, but liked to pretend he didn’t. 

That this was another way for him to just… not really exist for a while. He never belonged to himself when he was with someone else like that. It always hurt in some way, in his head, or his heart, or his ass. 

It was easy enough to not think about this once he was there, once he’d had his beer. Once he was at the guy’s flat. Once he’d stripped, and moved as instructed. 

Hard to stop thinking about it while he dressed again. Once he swallowed down the taste of cigarettes and latex. 

It was - it was shitty because it only made him numb to himself for a short while. It couldn’t put him out for days on end like other shit. If he wanted it like that, he’d have to fucking stay out, keep doing it. Disappoint Gansey and Blue. Disappear again. 

Gansey was still up when he got back. Half asleep in the lounge. Waited until Ronan had showered, followed him back to his bedroom, climbed into the bed with him. 

“What’re you doing?” Ronan slurred, exhaustion and the slight edge of beer still in him. 

“Just feel like being close to you,” Gansey said, as if this was a normal nightly occurrence.

He had already tucked himself in, burrowed down under Ronan’s covers. 

“Blue kick you out?” Ronan asked, let himself shift down the mattress and over, until his shoulder was pressed to Gansey’s chest. “Too much geek talk?” 

“No,” Gansey tucked his arm over Ronan’s waist, his skin hot against Ronan’s. “I just thought you might appreciate it. I know it makes me feel better. Not being alone.” 

Ronan swallowed. 

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” Gansey continued, quietly. “But I _know_ _you_, Ronan. I’m not going to pretend I don’t.” 

Ronan closed his eyes, focused on Gansey’s heartbeat pressed against his arm. 

-

He opened the suitcases from the Barns a good three and a half months after he’d moved in with Blue and Gansey. It was an odd mixture of things. Some of his old clothes. Some old CDs. Books on all sorts of crazy shit, his old Latin textbooks, poetry, fairytales, his mother’s copy of Alice in Wonderland. His bagpipes were in the second suitcase, a little dusty in their case. His cowboy boots. He thought there ought to be the matching hat  _ somewhere _ . Some pictures from his wall, a couple of framed photos he recognised from the living room of the Barns. A lone toy car. 

Everything in the suitcases smelled of the Barns, the clothes holding the faint scent of their laundry liquid and a bit of wood smoke. If he closed his eyes and just breathed carefully, sitting in a puddle of sunlight on his floor, holding that stupid car in his hand, he could pretend for a second he was back there. 

He wondered if Declan had packed the car because he somehow knew about the significance of it, or if it had just been randomly picked out of the mess of the room. It had been on his bedside table when he’d left. Maybe that was it. 

-

Adam had been attempting to spend Sunday afternoon studying for an upcoming test, but he’d only gotten about half an hour of actual study done. 

It was just weird, was all. Up until just a few months ago, his Sunday’s had been dedicated entirely to readings. It was exhausting putting so much in to the process, and so he’d always cleared the day for it. It had felt like the least he could do, really. 

Now, it had all paid off. Ronan was back with his family. It wasn’t everything Adam had hoped for, but it was more than he had dared to expect. Since Ronan had been back, Adam had been first filling his Sunday’s by spending time with his now ex-partner Kel. Since Kel had broken up with him because they didn’t feel Adam was invested in the relationship, he had been attempting to use Sunday as an extra study day. His brain and his friends weren’t so keen on that idea. 

“C’mon, man,” Logan said over the phone after Adam had already declined the group outing. “Look, I know things with you and Kel are a bit awkward right now, but -” 

“Kel and I are fine,” Adam said, flipped a couple of pages in his text book absentmindedly. “We did our usual study group thing together last week.” 

“So you’re not broken hearted and hiding away?” 

“No,” Adam said, sighed. “They were right, and it made sense to break up as our expectations weren’t matching. I’m in a bit of a weird headspace right now. It wasn’t fair on them.” 

“Well then,” Logan said, “I don’t see why you can’t come out today. You and Kel are fine, and it’s not like you’re gonna drop from first in the class if you have a bit of fun.” 

“I’m not adverse to fun,” Adam said, wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could use both hands to rifle through the book. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, really, just something to catch his eye. “It’s more like I’m - today feels like a day I ought to stay in. Y’know?” 

“You’re seriously pulling the psychic card?” 

“It’s just a feeling.” 

“Okay, so like,” Logan paused, “are we all gonna get in a terrible accident, and you’ll come to the hospital later and be like, told you so!” 

“Don’t be a dick,” Adam laughed. “It’s not like. It’s not a bad feeling about going  _ out _ , it’s a nagging need to stay  _ home _ .” 

“That’s just called being an introvert, dude,” Logan said, laughed as well, “fine. Fine. Have a good introvert psychic day. I’m sure Ash’ll snapchat you.” 

“Oh,” Adam put the book down, “tell her I’ve taken snapchat off my phone, I didn’t have enough space. Sorry.” 

Logan laughed again. “Okay grandpa,” he said, “I’ll talk to you later.” 

Adam hung up, attempted to focus on his study. 

Attempted to focus for ten minutes. Ended up lying on his back on his floor, staring at his ceiling. When he’d moved in, it had been all cracked and bubbled paint, and he’d spent a good chunk of time fixing it because there was something horrible about the idea of bits of ceiling drifting down into his cereal. He’d painted it white, because that was a perfectly normal and sensible ceiling colour, but he’d also painted it white because staring into the blank brightness of his ceiling light surrounded by reflective paint was very useful for scrying. 

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to scry. 

He’d been scrying, for three years, he needed a break. It had begun to feel like he had this constant headache in the back of his eyes, like he was pushing himself too hard. He would have kept pushing anyway, despite the pain, but he was glad he didn’t have to. 

It had been… awkward. When he had started. He had asked Maura to help him define how he was focusing, to turn that focus into something useful, to learn how to reach with it. Her knowing what he was doing had been only part of the awkwardness of it. Her watching him do it was the rest. He had spent the first four months after Ronan’s disappearance - every Sunday - in Fox Way’s upstairs lounge (collection of sagging couches and bookshelves stuffed to bursting, and usually someone taking a nap), and sat and trained with Maura on how to look. 

Finding Ronan in that space had been the easy part. He’d been drawn to Ronan since the day they’d met. Ronan’s energy had always felt big and bright, and at first Adam hadn’t like how big it was, had felt pushed and squashed by it. The longer he’d known Ronan, the better he liked it, he bigger a person he himself had felt. So. It was easy to find Ronan, like finding your own hand in the bathtub. It didn’t matter if the lights were off, your eyes were closed, you could always find your own hand, and Ronan felt as close to him as that. 

If it had all been that easy, he wouldn’t have told Ronan he couldn’t do long distance. 

He could find Ronan there, while scrying, in the nothingness of everything. But he couldn’t do anything with the finding. He couldn’t pin point him, he couldn’t nudge him, he couldn’t call him.

He’d had to learn how to do that part, and he’d had to be careful. There were a lot of darker things lurking in the waters that also wanted to grab his hand. He’d had to take a lot of steps back when he’d jumper too far. By the time he was confident in his ability to pin point, to locate, finding Ronan’s hand had been harder. He was still the same undercurrent, but his wrapping was different. It felt like he was reaching and reaching for his hand but forgetting and forgetting that it had been amputated. 

For two months in his second year of the search, he’d scried daily. Gansey had come to see him after three days without contact, had found him unconscious, dehydrated, slightly delirious. Had made him promise to take it slower. 

The day he’d managed to not only find Ronan in the dark, but take his hand, and then feel where he was - it wasn’t an outstanding day. Just a nothing day. Just a normal Sunday scrying session. He’d pulled himself out of it afterwards, gasping for breath, with his hands in pins and needles, with his heart pounding against his ribs. He’d called Gansey. Gansey had called Declan. Declan had found Ronan. 

He ought to be studying right now. Not lying on his floor, his eyes tight shut, his mind on Ronan. He hadn’t scried since that day, because, why would he? He’d found what he’d been looking for. His stomach was upset though, like it was trying to tell him something that his brain wasn’t letting it. Like a rock sitting there in his stomach, just aching, like it had forced its way down his throat, leaving him raw. 

He was blinking the tears out of his eyes when there was a knock on the door. 

His first instinct was to ignore it, but that  _ was _ the introvert instinct. He climbed slowly first onto his knees, then onto his feet, opened the door to his little flat. 

This one wasn’t positioned over a church, wasn’t affiliated with a church in anyway, but it gave him the same feeling. Not the overly cramped, bump my head on the ceiling feeling, more the feeling of being somewhere small enough to hold him. Gave him somewhere he could be found.

“Gansey still has an address book,” Ronan said. He was leaning against the wall by Adam’s door. “I swear he’s fucking ancient. He even keeps it properly up to date, wrote the date you moved in as well.” 

Ronan looked different to how he’d seen him last, which was good. His skin looked healthier, his body stronger. His hair was cut shorter, but still had just enough length for his curls to be evident. He still didn’t look at Adam though. 

“He does like to be organised,” Adam offered, gripping his door carefully as a clutch. “But yeah. I don’t see why he won’t just keep this all in his phone.” 

“I’m coming in,” Ronan said then, pushed himself away from the wall. 

Adam stepped aside to let Ronan in, watched as Ronan crossed the room, peered through the open door to Adam’s bedroom, then crossed the room again to open the closed door that lead to the bathroom. Then he sat down at the little square table in the corner of the room. 

Adam closed the door, hesitated by the door mat, and then joined Ronan at the table, sitting awkwardly on the edge of his own chair while Ronan looked around at the art on Adam’s walls, the plants, the bookshelf, the finger knitted rug. 

Adam was proud of this place. It was small, and cheap, and got a little drafty in the winter, but it was his, and he’d made it look it too. He had some of Blue’s art on the wall, some he’d seen at market stalls and liked. His bookshelves were full of text books, but also fantasy, sci-fi novels, myths, and fairytales. He still had a particular copy of irish Ronan had loaned him about a week before everything. He’d read it cover to cover over and over, because it had been important to Ronan, and so it was important to Adam. 

His plants loved this flat, apparently getting the optimal amount of sun vs shade, they were bigger and greener than they’d ever been, one of them on his kitchen windowsill was making its way out of the window, little feelers poking out into the sky. 

It was nice seeing Ronan here, in his space. Nice, but intensely odd. He felt like he was in a dream, or he had accidentally scryed while lying there on his back, had pushed himself into an alternate universe, was actually still there, frozen, growing cold, on the floor in his apartment. 

“You’re better at decorating now,” Ronan said at last, seemingly having finished scanning the entire room, his eyes now on the table top, having glanced off and away from Adam’s face. “It looks half decent.” 

“I guess that’s about half a compliment,” Adam said, “so thank you?” 

Ronan shrugged. They were both silent for another long moment, and then spoke again at the same time. 

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Ronan said, his fingers knotted on the table top. 

“I’m sorry about the other month,” Adam said, his own fingers clenched in the loose fabric of his soft house pants. 

Ronan was finally looking at him, his face was down turned, but he was looking up through his lashes, like he was trying to be surreptitious. Adam exhaled. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ronan said, his voice slow, like he was thinking long and hard about each word as he said it. 

Adam shook his head, tried again. “I wanted you to choose whether you wanted to see me or not,” he said, swallowed hard to try and wet his dry mouth. “I could have - I should have got someone else on my team to help you out.” 

Ronan frowned, his eyes flicking back to the table, his fingers running along a scratched groove in the wood. 

“You found me,” Ronan said, “you found me.” 

“Um,” Adam frowned too. “It’s not like finders keepers, Lynch. I could have asked someone else.” 

“No,” Ronan’s hands flattened on the table. “You found me. Half way across the fucking world.” 

“Oh.” 

He didn’t know how else to respond. Oh. Yes. He had, but - but so what? That bit didn’t matter. The bit that mattered was that Ronan was back. 

“I was in Australia,” Ronan said to the table. “Do you know how many drunk idiots are in Australia?” 

“I assume a few.” 

“But you fucking told Declan the exact bar.” 

“Scrying isn’t always perfect,” Adam said, “but sometimes it is.” 

Ronan didn’t say anything for a moment. He was still staring at the table, his thumb worrying at the groove again. 

“When you scried,” Ronan said, “could you feel me?” 

Adam had to think about that - about how to try and translate feeling into words, magic into understandable. 

“In a sense,” he said, “I could feel your - your  _ being _ .” 

“So you sensed my being in Shelly’s bar and bark,” Ronan said, “does that mean you could - could read my mind? See me? Knew what I was doing?” 

Adam shook his head. “No,” he said, still shaking his head. “No.” 

“D’you know what I was thinking about that night?” Ronan asked, “What I was doing?” 

“No.” 

Ronan nodded, his hands still again.

“Gansey doesn’t know I’m here.” 

“You don’t want him to know?” 

“He doesn’t think - actually - I don’t think I really should be here,” Ronan said, bit out a harsh laugh. “I don’t think I’m ready.” 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Adam said, “I don’t expect forgiveness.” 

He also hadn’t expected Ronan to look at him in the way he did now. Like Adam had told him he had a tail, or like Adam was saying something crazy. 

“Parrish,” Ronan said, “I thought you were psychic? There’s fucking nothing to forgive, man. That’s not it.” He stood up, pressing his weight down on the table with one hand, knuckles turning white. “I just - I was going fucking insane.” 

He didn’t elaborate on this, just swallowed. Put his hands into his jacket pockets, stepped away from the table. 

“Ronan,” Adam said, before Ronan could simply let himself out of Adam’s front door and disappear again. Ronan paused, turned to look at Adam. “Will I see you again?” 

Ronan shrugged. “It’s not you I’m running from,” he said. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments!!!!

“What are you running from, then?” Ronan’s therapist - Kit - asked him the following week. 

It was really quite rude of Kit, picking out that little bit from Ronan trying to explain his fucking interactions with people. He shrugged expansively, picked at the embroidery on the cushion beside him. 

  
Kit tried again.

“A lot of what you’ve told me sounds like you’re trying to run from your past. But here, it sounds like you’re trying to run from your present, as well.” 

A bead wiggled unsettlingly at Ronan’s picking, and he gave it up quickly before he accidentally unraveled the whole damn cushion. His palms were a little sweaty, and he wiped them on his jeans before trying to answer. 

“There’s no running from my past,” he said, well aware that that barely counted as an answer. 

“If Gansey asked you what you were running from,” Kit said, “what would you tell him?” 

Ronan shrugged. “His god awful shoes, probably.” 

Kit laughed, but didn’t let up. “And if you were being serious?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What if Declan asked?” 

“I’d tell him to fuck off.” 

“Would you?” 

Ronan groaned. “No,” he admitted. 

“What if Adam asked?” 

Today’s session felt like it had all been about Adam. Honestly, he had only mentioned Adam in the last five minutes of the half hour so far, but it was what was consuming Ronan in and out. He swallowed hard, checked the time on the clock over the window to his left. 

“Having to be someone.” 

“Having to be someone,” Kit repeated thoughtfully. “Can you expand on that at all?” 

He wished therapy was something you went into, had someone take one look at you, and then hand you a card telling you what you needed to do to fix yourself. This whole having to talk and explain, and figure shit out for yourself bullshit was exhausting. 

“I’m not who I used to be,” he said to the ripped knees of his jeans. “And I know there’s no returning to that. I’m just different. But. I wasn’t  _ anybody _ for the last three years. I worked hard not to be someone. I didn’t even have a favourite fucking drug. Never stayed anywhere long enough for it to be something about me. I didn’t wanna feel shit, I didn’t wanna be shit.” 

Kit nodded. “Is there nothing in your past life that’s still here in your present? What about your friends? Your family?” 

Ronan shrugged. “They’re not character traits, they’re a bunch of awfully persistent idiots.” 

-

“I saw Parrish on Sunday,” Ronan said while he cut carrots for the roast Blue was putting together. “I went to his.” 

Gansey was at the sink, scrubbing potatoes, so Ronan couldn’t see his expression, but Blue was standing on the other side of the counter to him, peeling garlic, and gaped up at him. 

“You what?” Gansey asked, turned the tap off. “What did you do on Sunday?” 

“I saw Parrish,” Ronan repeated loudly to his carrots. 

“Where?” Gansey asked. 

“At his fucking flat,” Ronan grunted, “god, get some new ears, will ya?” 

“I had the tap on!” Gansey protested, circled the counter to come stand beside Ronan, a potato still in hand. “Why?” 

“I wanted to see him,” Ronan said, shrugged, “I’ve seen everyone else.” 

“You did see him,” Blue pointed out, “when he brought you home.” 

“I wanted to see him while sober,” Ronan said, shot a half hearted glare in Blue’s direction. “I wanted - I wanted to see him.” 

“I thought,” Gansey said, slow, “I thought it was too - too painful, right now?” 

Ronan shrugged again, put his carrot knife down, popped a piece of carrot in his mouth, spoke through the crunching. “It is. But I thought it’d help.” 

“Did it?” Blue asked, stole a piece of Ronan’s carrot as well. 

“Yeah,” Ronan admitted, swallowed. He glanced up at Gansey, then nudged him playfully. “But don’t worry, man,” he said, yanking up a grin, “I’m not miraculously cured, you still get to be my number one helper.” 

“Oh,” Gansey said drily, “joy.” 

-

As it turned out, Ronan realised he did agree with Gansey about how going to a bar without intending to drink did tend to be a bad idea. He had drunk the last two times he’d been. He’d managed to find someone to fuck as well, but, he wasn’t sure if it was worth it when only moments after he had double the shame, thanks to the drinking. Well, no. He was  _ sure  _ it wasn’t worth it. Plus, it wasn’t fair to Gansey and Blue to be going without drinking, when he - the one who definitely shouldn’t be - was still occasionally having a bit. 

Really, him downloading Grindr was Matthew’s fault. Matthew had insisted, on one of their lunches together, that he had to become more a part of the world, and  _ apparently _ , becoming more a part of the world involved getting instagram and following Matthew on all three of his accounts, and then snapchat to be friends with Matthew, and to refuse to be friends with Declan (he had begrudgingly agreed to friend Blue, Gansey, and Henry, though he doubted he’d ever actually snap back). Matthew had suggested he could get a dating app. Ronan had brushed it aside while Matthew had been there, saying that he wasn’t interested in dating. 

That was true. He wasn’t. He didn’t want the fucking fiddliness of meeting someone new and dancing around all the lines. He’d been in love once, thanks, and that was enough. He didn’t have the patience currently, for anything but instant gratification. So, not dating, but hook ups. He couldn’t  _ really _ blame Matthew for him downloading Grindr, but it was much easier than to admit that he had done it of his own volition. 

Henry had discovered he had it, because he was on the app too, and had delightedly informed Ronan that his profile picture would get more friction if it wasn’t a photo of Chainsaw. 

Ronan disagreed. He was getting plenty of fucking friction. And that was all he wanted. Friction. Heat. Nothingness for just a moment. 

  
  


-

  
  


By Thursday night, Adam still hadn’t heard from Ronan again. He told himself that that didn’t worry him in the slightest. That he shouldn’t expect to hear from Ronan again for another month, probably. Ronan had said it himself, he wasn’t ready. He had also said he wasn’t running from Adam, which was a nice little riddle for Adam to think about in all the little brief corners of spare time he had.

  
Tonight wasn’t one of those spare corners, not yet. He had spent all day at uni, ducking from class, to tute, to lecture, to class, to his quick shift at the uni library, and then, to his friend Gideon’s place to finish an assignment they were doing together. 

Gideon didn’t live very far from Adam’s, but Gideon’s was closest to the uni, so they always met at his flat. Plus it was a little bit bigger, seeing as he had flatmates. The lounge area was basically as big as Adam’s whole flat, which made it a much better place to spread out all their study gear in. 

-

They were wrapping up, more yawns than useful ideas, around about midnight, when the fighting began. 

About half an hour ago, Gideon’s flatmate (Reg? Greg? Egg?) had popped his head into the lounge and mentioned he had  _ someone _ over, and so please don’t disturb him. Gideon had raised his eyebrows at Adam, shuffled over to his small bluetooth speaker, and started up some music, saying that they’d probably need it. 

Now, it sounded like they ought to have turned the music up louder if they wanted to block out Egg’s sex  _ and _ fights. 

“Fuck,” Gideon groaned, rubbing his hand down his face, dropping his pen onto the papers on the floor in front of them. “I can’t work through this.” 

“We’re basically finished anyway,” Adam agreed, began shuffling all the shit together into a semi neat pile. “Let’s go over it tomorrow morning after our first class, write the conclusion, and hammer it all together.” 

“What a dream,” Gideon said, yawned. “Fuck man, if he keeps it up we’re gonna get another noise complaint.” 

“Maybe you should knock,” Adam suggested, flashed him a grin.

“Maybe you should knock,” Gideon suggested back. “Nah. I’ll butt in if it carries on for longer than ten minutes, I think. Or wait for like, Amanda to go shut him up.” 

“Yikes,” Adam stood up, shoved his work into his satchel bag sitting on the chair behind him. “How long do you usually let these things go on for?” 

“About until I can’t take it anymore,” Gideon shrugged, “I know, I know. I just hate conflict.” 

“Fair enough.” Adam swung his bag over his shoulder, leaned over to bump knuckles with Gideon. “See you tomorrow?” 

“So long as Greg doesn’t murder me and his dud date,” Gideon grinned. 

Adam didn’t think that was very funny, told Gideon so, rolled his eyes at Gideon’s grimace, and then let himself into the hallway at the exact same time that the door closest to the front door slammed open as well and (Gr)egg’s ill advised fling stormed out. 

His ill advised fling with the tight curls, and the tight jeans. The unforgettable sprawl of tattoo over his shoulders, visible because he was clutching his jacket in one hand, the door in the other, as he yelled at Greg that he ought to ‘try fucking a porcupine, you rusted handsaw piece of shit, jesus mary’.

“Ronan,” Adam said. 

Ronan slammed Greg’s door almost as if in reaction to the shock of hearing Adam’s voice, his whole body jumping a little. 

“What the fuck,” Ronan said, stared from Greg’s now closed door to Adam still in the doorway of the lounge. “Parrish?” 

Adam glanced back at Gideon, still sitting on the lounge floor, his head cocked sideways in interest. He shook his head slightly, discouraging him from coming out to investigate and possibly piss off a vaguely skittish looking Ronan. 

“You were leaving?” Adam asked, trying to skate over (for now at least), the fact that the both of them knew that Adam knew that Ronan was here for a fuck, and was now leaving very fucked off. “Same.” 

Ronan scowled, his mouth twisted like he was trying for half a second to get a popcorn kernel out of his teeth with his tongue, and then he turned away from Adam to the front door, and yanked it open, shoulders square and tight. 

For a moment Adam thought this was Ronan’s goodbye, but Ronan stood there still in the doorway, holding it open, waiting. Adam joined him. 

They stood there in the corridor of the apartment building, Ronan dragging his jacket on over his excessively rumpled tank top, Adam adjusting the strap of his bag. 

“You know that dickhead?” Ronan asked, breaking the silence before it became heavy. 

“No,” Adam shook his head, started walking towards the stairs, Ronan in step with him. “I know his flatmate. Gideon. We were working on an assignment together. How do you know him? Egg? I mean, uh -” 

Ronan laughed, short and sharp, mumbled, ‘egg’ under his breath, and then shook his head. “I don’t know him.” 

That was at least partially false. 

Adam nodded, slipped his thumb under his bag strap against his shoulder, ignored the steady thrum in his brain that kept whispering about how Ronan had been  _ with _ Greg,  _ with Greg _ . It wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his business at all. 

“You know him enough to fight him, though?” Adam tried, keeping his voice on the edge of humour so he could back off in a moment if Ronan wanted him to. 

Ronan snorted. He seemed a lot less wary than he had a few moments ago, a lot less wary than he had on Sunday. 

“Yeah,” Ronan agreed, thumped the end of the rail on the stairs as they turned the corner to go down again. “Know him enough to know he’s a dickhead.” 

“That’s plenty of information, then,” Adam agreed. “Once you know someone’s a dickhead, the rest is just the balls.” 

“Basically,” Ronan shot a sideways glance at Adam, and then flicked a piece of plaster he’d apparently just pinched straight from the wall, at Adam. 

Adam laughed a little as the plaster missed by a bare moment, hit the step by his foot instead, allowed himself to smile right at Ronan. 

Ronan exhaled. “He had some fucking ecstacy. Kept trying to convince me to take it with him.” 

“Huh,” Adam said, his vocabulary betraying him. He exhaled as well, snuck a glance at Ronan to see Ronan staring at his own booted feet trudging down the stairs. “What a shit head.” 

“It’s a bit creepy,” Ronan said, “how many fuckheads have no idea what the fucking word ‘no’ means.” 

Adam exhaled more. “Yeah,” he agreed. 

A few moments ago, he had thought Ronan seemed... energetic almost. No longer skittish but kind of calm. He didn’t really seem any of that right now. It was like every time he spoke he was using up an extra bit of the parts of him that were holding him together. Asking if he was okay felt somewhat redundant though. 

“Y’know,” Ronan said, his voice erring on the side of shakey, “I never fucking said yes.” 

He had paused, his hand trailed back along the wall like he’d been holding himself up, fingers spread and tense on the chipped plaster. They were on the last two stairs now, the lobby just ahead. Ronan looked like he’d gone as far as he could on the amount of steam he had. It didn’t sound, now, like he was still talking about Greg. Like he was really even thinking about tonight. He looked far away and distant even though he was standing only a few breaths away from Adam. He wondered if he tried to scry right now, if he’d even be able to feel Ronan, if he’d be able to hold onto him in the blackness, or if Ronan was holding himself to far away from anything around him. 

Adam reached out. Slow, so Ronan could see or sense it coming. His fingertips rested on Ronan’s leather clad elbow. 

“Ronan,” he said, quiet, but firm, trying to drag Ronan’s attention away from where ever it had suddenly snagged and caught. 

Ronan closed his eyes, opened them, turned his head slowly towards Adam. 

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. 

This seemed to wake Ronan up a bit. Enough for him to scowl and tip his head back a little in annoyance. 

“Fuck’s sake, Parrish,” he said, his voice still shakey, still gritty, but enough  _ not _ that it felt a little bit better. “How many fucking times do I have to say that I don’t -” 

“Nah,” Adam interrupted, shifted his hand so he could wrap it around Ronan’s arm, hold it lightly. “I’m not sorry about something I did. I’m sorry you went through all that shit. I’m just  _ sorry _ . It’s not an apology.” 

Ronan swore, not as black as it could be. Dropped his hand down from the wall, let the momentum of that push him slightly closer to Adam. 

“I need to go home,” Ronan said to the stairs. To Adam. 

“I was gonna walk,” Adam said, “but I could get you an uber? Or - are you using your phone like a person now? You could get one?” 

“I use it like a person,” Ronan grunted, “I ignore it when it rings, and I don’t have fucking uber.” 

“Do you want me to call you one?” 

“No,” Ronan shook his head. “Nah. Fuck other people driving. They’re always so slow.” 

Adam wasn’t sure what was better right now, Ronan just - just deep in his emotions, or, Ronan plastering on a quick facade. He supposed it was probably better for Ronan not to have to dig himself up out of his emotions at midnight with a friend who probably felt like a stranger now.

He wanted to tell Ronan that he didn’t feel like a stranger to him. That he still thought about him all the time. That he still got that feeling in his stomach when Ronan spoke to him, like there was something they shared, something that pulled them together, something that was  _ something _ . 

That even if Ronan’s short fuse had been cut even shorter by all the horror he’d been through, that Adam wasn’t scared of that explosion. That he didn’t need Ronan to pretend to be eighteen year old Ronan, all he wanted was for Ronan to  _ be. _

  
Fuck. 

  
He wanted to take Ronan by the hand right now, just slide his own hand down Ronan’s arm and slot their fingers together and just tell him. Tell him he didn’t have to fucking pretend. Not in front of Adam. Not now, not ever. 

“I’ll walk with you,” Ronan said, “we’re in the same direction for a bit.” 

  
  


It was only three-ish blocks out of his way to Ronan’s, so, Adam was going to walk in Ronan’s direction as long as he was allowed. Partially because, well, Ronan had seemed on the verge of a break down of a sort a few minutes ago, and partly because, well. Adam wanted to. 

They walked the first half block in silence, the dark and the stars encouraging the quiet as they walked from each splash of light from the street lamps to the next. 

“You didn’t come to the house warming,” Ronan said, breaking the silence as they paused to let a late night car creep out of its driveway. “Gansey said you were sick. You weren’t, though, right?” 

That had been so long ago now that Adam had forgotten about it until now. He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk so that it skittered off into the grass. 

“I told you I wanted to give you your space,” Adam said, let himself look at Ronan as he said it. Watched the street lamp light glint off of Ronan’s earrings, get lost in the darkness of the rest of him. “So, yeah. I wasn’t sick.” 

“That’s stupid,” Ronan replied, cleared his throat. 

Adam could point out right now that Ronan, not even a week ago, had said himself that he didn’t think he was ready to see Adam yet. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead. Shrugged. “I know,” he said. “But I thought it was for the best.” 

“So did Gansey,” Ronan allowed. “And Blue. And Declan.” 

“Not you?” 

“I don’t know what I thought,” Ronan said. He was keeping his gaze in front of them, never glancing sideways to catch Adam watching him. “All I knew is that it hurt.” 

“Having other people decide what’s best?” 

“That,” Ronan nodded, “but mostly the fact that - shit, Parrish. You’re not my goddamned therapist.” 

Ronan didn’t sound pissed off, maybe a  _ little _ antagonised, but nothing near worrying. Adam huffed out a laugh. 

“Damn right I’m not,” he said, “if I were I’d insist we have this conversation somewhere warmer.” 

“You’re the one who wanted to walk,” Ronan replied, stepped sideways so he could knock his shoulder against Adam’s quickly. 

“I asked if you wanted to uber!” Adam protested, elbowed Ronan, then tried to wind his way back to what he had wanted to say. “I don’t have to be your therapist to - to talk about shit with you,” he said. “I wanna talk with you.” 

Ronan didn’t reply right away, just kept walking, close enough to Adam now that their elbows brushed with each step. 

“You should come to Gansey’s,” Ronan said. “This weekend sometime. Sunday maybe.” 

Odd that Ronan called it ‘Gansey’s’ when he’d lived there almost as long. Blue would also want to know why he wasn’t calling it ‘Blue’s’. 

“Okay,” Adam said, “I can do Sunday.” 

“And, uh, fuck,” Ronan said eloquently. “Don’t tell Gansey. About tonight. I don’t need him … worrying more than he already fucking does.” 

Adam nodded. 

“It’s not a fucking secret that I went out,” Ronan continued roughly, “but I don’t want him - I don’t want him fucking freaking out that I might be… that I could be fucking, like, fucking coerced into doing shi-  _ drugs _ , or some shit.” 

He was speaking awkwardly, stilted, like he wasn’t wanting to be saying what he was saying as he said it. 

Adam nodded again. 

“Fuck,” Ronan said. “Shit. My real therapist told me I need to fucking use my goddamned fucking shit for fuck words.” 

Adam laughed, leaned to bump his shoulder against Ronan’s again. “Well you definitely fucking used them.” 

“That’s it for the week though,” Ronan warned, possibly seriously. “I’ve used up all my allotted words on this, so you better feel fucking special.” 

Adam did. Special enough that it warmed him right down to his toes, even in this chilly air. 

“Oh my,” he drawled instead of admitting that even his ribs were warm. “I’m blessed.” 

Ronan knocked their shoulders again, and then peeled off to the right suddenly. 

“I’ll see you in the weekend,” he said. “Night.” 

Adam had been planning on walking with Ronan, but Ronan was already crossing the road, had very obviously made his farewells. It would be stupid and desperate to chase after him right now. 

“Night, Lynch.” 


	7. Chapter 7

It was a bad idea to go out on Saturday night, but that didn’t stop Ronan. He’d waited until Gansey and Blue had gone to bed, then messaged back the guy who lived on the other side of town to Adam. He didn’t want a repeat of last time. Well. Whether or not Adam was around had nothing to do with his hook up being a drug pushing asshole, but at least it was less likely that he’d have to have his minor break down in front of Adam. 

This guy’s screen name was one of those easy to forget ones with lots of numbers, like; bigdick230, bussysmasher2.9, iphone11proMax. The profile was his face, wich was useful, but also easy to forget. All Ronan really cared about was going in, forgetting about every single fucking thing for as long as this dude could keep his dick hard, and then getting home and sleeping the shame out. It felt like a bit of a reductive cycle - the pros slowly feeling dwarfed by the cons, but. But it was like any other fucking addiction, he guessed. It felt good in the moment and that was what he was constantly chasing. 

His plan was going fine. It was half one in the morning, face down on an actually clean bed, ThiccAssLover247 fucking him like a machine (which was to say, rythmatic, hard, and very impersonal), Ronan’s half out of it - caught between dissosciation and the actual pleasure of it. His eye catches on a mundane item when he lifts his head for a moment to breathe. It’s just a letter, from a bank maybe. Addressed to Joey Ronalds. 

“Joey,” Ronan said, the word sticking in his throat, pressing all muffled into the matress as he put his head back down again. 

“Yeah?” ThiccAssLover247 breathed, adjusted his angle a little, “Yeah? Say my name.” 

“God,” Ronan groaned, dug his fingers in to the sheet and held on tightly. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah,” ThiccAssLover247,” repeated, definitely not really in this for the conversation. 

It was very easy, right then, with the impersonal touch, the heady stench of sex and sweat, the unfamiliar bed, the guy who replied to ‘Joey’, pressing him down hard against his bed, very easy for his brain to quickly filter out everything else, to present the scenario of being in Joey Kavinsky’s bed. Underneath K. Held down by K, drugs in his system keeping him weak and compliant. 

He could almost smell the stink of smoke, the mustyness of unwashed bedding, the sourness of K’s breath against his neck. It didn’t help to close his eyes, it just made all the feelings rougher and harsher against him. Joey’s fingers on him, one hand hooked tight around his hip, the other at his nape, both pushing him down, holding him down, keeping him down. His back feels like it’s breaking. His asshole stings as Joey pulls mostly out and then slams back in again, the edges of Ronan being pulled taut. Every thrust suddenly feels like his being stabbed with a dulled blade, a punch to the gut, a kick to the teeth. 

“What the fuck, man!” Joey yelled when Ronan dragged himself out and away from under him in one desperate scrambled movement. “What the fuck?” 

He could still hear K’s breath huffed against his ear, could still feel K’s fingers, sticky, pressing at his stomach. He panted loudly, ignoring Joey as he dragged his jeans on. He couldn’t see his boxers. He could live without them. 

“Shit man,” Joey continued, “what the hell is wrong with you? You couldn’t warn a guy before going all psycho?” 

Ronan didn’t have enough in him right now to even consider an apology. He had to get his boots on. Had to go. 

“If you fucking hate being plowed so much,” Joey continued, dragging the condom off of his still hard dick, “you could’ve at least offered to suck me off.” 

Ronan shoved his feet into his boots, left them unlaced, pulled his shirt on. Left with Joey still calling angrily after him. 

He walked the first five minutes in the wrong direction entirely, his brain just insisting on being away away away away and not really caring where. He paused to lean against a lamp post, to get his bearings, to try to shut his head up. 

For a long moment he wanted to just - to just go to Adam’s. To pretend like he was back in Henrietta, back to where he was hurting and angry but not so fucked up. When he’d fuck around with racing and Kavinsky, but never with the drugs and sex, and then turn up outside Adam’s fucking door and crash on his floor. 

He couldn’t do that. He shouldn’t do that. He wanted to be fucking  _ better _ . He needed to be. 

  
  
  


He got the bus back to Gansey’s. To his. Let himself inside. Showered until his body felt less disgusting, until his skin felt almost numb with the heat. 

There was a knock on the door as he pulled his sweatpants on, and when he grunted to permit access, Blue was standing there, her hair a wild bush, her eyes squinty with sleep. 

“Hey broski,” she yawned, “you good?” 

She sounded mostly asleep. 

“Sure,” he said, “I was just finished, bathroom’s all yours.” 

He made to step around and passed her, but she turned and took his elbow gently. “Wanna sleep with us?” 

“Uh.” He didn’t pull his arm from her hand because apparently he craved touch with such intensity right now that he felt if she let go he’d just collapse into the floorboards. “I really don’t think I’m up for a threesome with you guys, shrimpy.” 

She rolled her eyes, poked him in the ribs with her other hand, shook her head. “Don’t be yuk,” she said, “I’d sooner sleep with Chainsaw than you, you’re like my fucking brother, dude.” 

“Uh,” Ronan retorted, not quite snappish, but possibly close to. “You’re the one who asked if I wanted to!” 

“Nah,” Blue screwed her face up, exhaled, “ok, we’re both grumpy shits. What I meant to say was, do you wanna sleep with us in our bed, to just, like, fucking sleep. Nothing sexual. No shit like that.” 

He really fucking would. 

“Why?” He asked, sniffed a little, took his arm away from Blue’s hand to wrap around his waist where it was getting a little cold standing shirtless in the doorway. He didn’t collapse, but he still felt the loss of touch even as he was the one taking it away.

Blue shrugged, but she was softer now. “Dunno,” she admitted. “Just - y’know how I grew up, yeah? With so many people. It’s great having your own space and your own bed, and all that, but sometimes you just need to surrounded by love. Sometimes you just need to wake up and feel held.” 

Ronan sniffed again, cleared his throat. “Whatever.” 

“C’mon,” Blue said, touched his arm lightly. “Go get in with Gansey. I gotta piss first.” 

-

It was a good thing Blue and Gansey’s bed was big, because he and Gansey were both pretty tall, and also because Gansey like to lie like a starfish in the middle of the bed. Ronan chose the side which was technically Gansey’s, tugged the blanket out from under Gansey’s arm, and crawled in, letting Gansey’s warmth soak into him. 

“Hm,” Gansey mumbled, eyes still shut. “Blue?” 

“Definitely not,” Ronan said, quick to make himself known so that Blue wouldn’t walk in to Gansey acting on thinking that Ronan was his girlfriend. 

Gansey’s eyes fluttered open, though Ronan was pretty sure he could only actually see the whites of Gansey’s eyes, and his hand brushed against Ronan’s stubbly cheek. 

“Oh,” Gansey said, still sounding very, very asleep. “Ronan.” 

That was it. Gansey patted his cheek a few times somewhat absent mindedly, then dropped his hand down to rest between him and Ronan. Ronan shuffled around to pull the blanket up over his shoulders, tugged the pillows a little until Gansey gave one of them up. 

Blue got back in a few moments later, climbed in on the other side, mumbled a quick goodnight, and then, barely a full minute after, began snoring. Gansey joined in too. Ronan went to sleep. 

-

He woke up the next morning (though that was a generous term - sunlight was streaming in through the crack in the curtains, and traffic was loud outside - it was probably past noon), to the sound of Gansey in the kitchen, calling to Blue - wherever she was - and asking how she wanted her eggs. The answer was always over easy, and they all knew it, but he liked to ask every time just in case. 

Blue answered, also announcing to Ronan where she was, because where she was, was at the foot of the bed folding a jumper. 

“Jeez,” Ronan groaned. “Practicing to break the world guinness record for loudest sound in a bedroom?” 

“I can yell as loud as I want in my own room, thanks,” Blue replied, chucked the jumper at the overladen rocking chair in the corner of the room. “Sleep well?” 

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Ronan asked. He had slept well. Very well. He felt even somewhat rested now. He sat up, rubbed at his eyes. His head hurt a little, either from over sleep, or from the pounding of flashbacks that had smacked into him brain first last night. 

“Because you’d’ve been even grumpier than right now,” Blue said, her eyebrows raised. She tugged at the end of the blanket, pulling the warmth off of his knees. “Adam’s coming ‘round for dinner. Still up for that?” 

“I fucking invited him, didn’t I?” Ronan snapped. Threw the rest of the blanket off and got out of the bed rather than trying to eke out the warmth for as long as possible. 

“You can change your mind if you need,” Blue said, not quite absentmindedly, but very casually. 

Ronan scruffed her carefully messy hair as he sloped around the side of the bed. “I’m fine,” he said. 

-

Gansey came to find him in his room, a bare handful of minutes later, while Ronan was feeding Chainsaw and letting her taste test his fingertips. She wasn’t actually breaking skin, just nipping him. 

“Yes I’m still fine having Adam come over,” Ronan said, not feeling like beating around the bush this morning. “Everything’s fine. Don’t fucking worry, man.” 

Gansey folded his arms. Watched Ronan with Chainsaw for a few moments without saying anything, and then lifted one slippered foot to nudge the back of Ronan’s knee. 

“Y’know,” Gansey said, “you’re my best friend, Ronan.” 

Ronan peered at him over his shoulder, Chainsaw nudging her head close to his cheek to peer over his shoulder as well. 

“Even while you were gone,” Gansey continued, “you were my best friend.”

Ronan had to do something right now to diffuse the situation or he was going to explode, or disassociate completely, or even just cry. 

“Yeah, I get it Dick,” he said, looked away so he could pretend he was more invested in preening Chainsaw’s tail feathers. “You don’t have a lot of friends.” 

He could hear Gansey swallow. Could hear his own heartbeat inside his ear drums. 

“Being nasty isn’t going to always be a useful defense mechanism,” Gansey said. “Not for you, or whatever you perceive as danger.” 

Ronan kept his tongue to himself, barbed as it was. 

“You’re my best friend,” Gansey repeated, stoic in the face of Ronan’s ever bristling shoulders. “And I love you. And I wanted to say - to say thank you. For feeling like - I wanted to say that you’re always welcome to come to me. To us. If you need it. If you want it.” 

Ronan cleared his throat, cleared his throat again. Realised that no matter how many times he cleared his throats, the blockage would still be in the way. Nodded at the wall opposite him, eyes fixed on the square of sun painted on the wallpaper. Gansey touched him, his hand between Ronan’s shoulder blades. 

“It’s hard for me,” Gansey said, voice a little rough around the edges, the way it got when he knew his honesty might be brutal to hear. “It’s hard for me to watch you hurting yourself. I know it’s hard for you too. But I want you to know that even as it’s hard for me, even as you’re trying to be poisonous, I choose to be here for you.” 

“God, Gans,” Ronan managed to get out, felt like he was choking, “want me to get down on one knee, here?” 

“I want you to turn around and hug me,” Gansey said. 

In the years that Ronan had been away, Gansey had gotten better at… at vocalising. He and Ronan had always been good at communicating wordlessly their need for touch and intimacy and affection, even their own rough and odd kind, but it wasn’t something they had spoken about. Ronan had known back then how much of a duo they were. If Ronan fell, Gansey had him, if Gansey tripped, Ronan had him. It was a solid thing, a know it in your bones thing. That was good, until your anxiety managed to creep in, to rot your bones from the inside out. 

Ronan appreciated the words, this clear description of how Gansey loved him, as much as he balked at hearing them. He wanted them more than he wanted Gansey to let him have his fragile pride and his scaled exterior. 

He turned to let Gansey wrap his arms around Ronan, to press his face against Gansey’s expensive cologne smelling neck, to heave a shaking breath into the fabric of his jumper. 

“Do you need me to say it back?” Ronan whispered after what felt like hours, but was almost definitely no more than one and a half minutes. “I will if you need it.” 

“Only if you mean it,” Gansey said, softer than necessary.

Of course Ronan meant it. How could he not?    
  


“I fucking love you,” Ronan gritted out, “okay? I love you. I missed you.” 

-

He felt guilty. One of those slowly creeping, heat inducing, stomach sickening guilts. Guilty for knowing how much him going out at night and coming back at terrible hours scared Gansey and Blue, and doing it anyway. Guilty for - for the fucking. For the unattached, meaningless, anonymous fucking. He knew it went against what he actually believed. What he wanted his morals to be (though sometimes. his morals felt very much like he’d wrapped them up in newspaper and put them in a cardboard box and into the attic. Dusty and forgotten). 

Guilty for not being able to say the words back and sound sincere, really truly sound sincere, even when he meant it, and meant it, and meant it with every fucking beat of his heart. 

Guilty for how much he  _ needed _ the validation, the reminders of love, the touch, the constant presence of Gansey even though he had so little to give back in return. 

Guilty for most things. 

Guilty for pushing Adam away from their mutual friends because Ronan needed them and couldn’t bear to share. 

Couldn’t bear to have to face up to more guilt. 

Couldn’t bear to -

He just felt fucking guilty. 

-

It was such a stupid thing, being nervous about Adam coming over. He wasn’t a kid, and this wasn’t a date, or a stranger. This was Adam. Adam. He definitely shouldn’t be so nervous that he needed to be sitting in his room with his headphones on and his wackiest EDM playing. 

Chainsaw had learned that she could sit in his lap and get stroked, so that’s where she was, occasionally nibbling at his headphone cord, but mostly content to just sit there and be preened. She was the one to notice the knock on the door, to sit upright properly and squawk at it. Ronan pulled his headphones off as Adam poked his head around the door. 

“Um,” Adam said, “Gans said to tell you I was here? Which is a bit redundant really.” 

Parrish was a fucking nerd. 

“Is that a raven?” Adam asked, pushing the door open a little further and frowning with interest at Chainsaw. “A pet one?” 

“Chainsaw belongs to herself,” Ronan said, chucking his headphones over his shoulder to his pillow, and unfolding his legs to shift further to the edge of the bed. “But yeah, she’s a raven, and she lives here.” 

“Nice,” Adam said, still staying a cautious distance from her beak and her beady eyes, but coming close enough to look properly. “That’s pretty cool, Lynch.” 

“I know,” Ronan said, nudged Chainsaw so she would hop off of him so he could stand up. “I guess Gansey wants me to come out and be sociable then?” 

“I mean,” Adam smirked at him, “I would also like that.” 

Ronan had forgotten about the smirks. It was a stupid thing to forget just as much as it was a stupid thing to remember. It had been one of the things he’d found so attractive about Adam at first, back in school. When Adam would sass their classmates he’d wear the same smirk, or when he was sharing stupid jokes with him and Noah. Or when they’d fuck about on the dolly, or in trolleys, or race each other down hills on flattened carboard boxes. Like he knew there was something a little dangerous about what he was doing, and he didn’t care, he wanted the adrenaline of it anyway. 

Maybe Ronan was projecting. 

“Guess I gotta come out then,” Ronan said, standing up a little too fast and blacking out for half a second. “Good to see you, Parrish.” 

“Likewise,” Adam said, then smiled and nudged Ronan as they moved towards the door. “Why’re you being so formal, huh?” 

“Gansey pointed out that I’m a rude son of a bitch,” Ronan said, “I over corrected.” 

Adam grinned at him. “I like that you’re a rude son of a bitch,” he said, “but I think that’s a bit too rude to your ma.” 

Ronan grinned back, let Adam’s still present grin smooth over the ache of his ma. “You’re right,” he said, “I’m a rude son of a bastard.”

-

Their evening went fine. Which Ronan had mostly expected. It was a little awkward for all of five minutes, Gansey and Blue trying to figure out wordlessly if Ronan was doing  _ okay _ , Adam politely ignoring this, Ronan pulling the finger. 

They’d all chatted about various shit, Gansey and Adam about their classes, Blue about her projects, Gansey about a book he’d read recently, Adam about an interesting chemical phenomena he’d learned about recently, Blue about a litter of puppies she’d helped get adopted recently. 

“Y’know,” Blue said, reaching over Ronan to get to the hummus on the coffee table, “Ronan’s been doing some modeling for our life drawing group, and he is fucking good.” 

“Really?” Adam nudged the hummus a little closer to Blue, though he was looking at Ronan, eyebrows raised. “Like, a naked model?” 

Ronan scoffed, Blue snorted. 

“Yes,” she said, “like, a naked model. Not all of us think our bodies ought to be covered by three different layers of flannel at once, Adam.” 

“Hey,” Adam protested, plucked at his jumper. “I’m not even wearing flannel today. You can’t keep citing the flannel incident last year forever.” 

“I can,” Blue said, fed half her hummus covered carrot to Gansey. “But yeah, Ronan’s like, real good at sitting still.” 

“Surprising, really,” Gansey said, “whenever I look at him too long he pulls the finger at me.” 

“Do you model every week?” Adam asked, “When?” 

“You can’t come to the class,” Ronan said quickly, his cheeks feeling surprisingly hot all of a sudden. “It’d be too awkward having someone I fucking know looking at me.” 

“I wasn’t -” Adam started, trailed off a little awkwardly like he wasn’t sure anymore what it was he wasn’t going to do. 

“I’m there,” Blue said, nudged Ronan’s back with her foot. “And you know the rest now too. Cassie’s your buddy now, isn’t she?” 

“We swap books,” Ronan shrugged. “You don’t count, Blue.” 

“What!” 

“It’s different with you,” he insisted, well aware that the hole he was digging here was not one he was willing to use truth to work his way out. 

“Okay,” Blue said, “how is it different?” 

It turned out, that as irritating as it was having Gansey and Blue treat him sometimes like a very fragile thing, it was extremely useful for when he wanted to get out of a topic, because all he had to do was turn his face away from Adam’s view and shoot Blue a look of entreaty. 

“Adam,” Gansey said, “did you get that assignment in? Last I heard, Gideon was struggling with the conclusion.” 

“Oh,” Adam said, “yeah, I wrote most of it in the end, but he did the footnotes, so all good. We get our marks back next week.” 

“Was that what you were working on at his the other day?” Ronan asked, before he could remind himself that only half of the room was aware that he and Adam had bumped into each other at that fucking awful hook up. 

Adam glanced past him at Blue and Gansey, and then shrugged. “Yeah.” 

Gansey frowned, but Adam continued on pass the frown with an ease that impressed Ronan just a little bit. 

“Oh, I finally watched that movie you two have been nagging me to watch for ages,” he said, leaned over Ronan’s knee to nudge Blue. “It was terrible!” 

This was apparently controversial enough that the previous subject was completely forgotten.

-

It wasn’t exactly hard to step outside alone with Adam when he left to go, but he did have to suffer the very pointed looks on both Blue and Gansey’s faces as he did so. 

He stood there on the doorstep while Adam pulled his jacket on, the both of them pretending like this wasn’t somewhat awkward. 

“So that was a bit weird,” Adam said, apparently not pretending like Ronan was. “Felt a bit like those two were chaperoning us, huh?” 

Ronan coughed. “Like over protective geese.” 

Adam laughed, finished buttoning his jacket, looked up at Ronan, the outside light catching his eyes and making them shine like a sudden star and also making Ronan think things in stupid overly soppy similes. 

“It was nice. I mean. I’ve seen them around, but it was nice to be here, just, chilling. You know?” 

Ronan knew. He shrugged. 

“I’ve missed it,” Adam said. His tongue was in the corner of his mouth like he’d started a nervous tic and forgotten to finish it. 

“I missed you,” Ronan said, because if he didn’t think about things at all and just let momentum carry the words out of his mouth it was easier. “I fucking missed you.” 

Adam’s smile was gone. The light in his eyes wasn’t. He stepped down from the bottom step, onto the footpath, reached out to Ronan even as he moved away, gripped the cuff of Ronan’s hoodie. 

“I missed you,” he said, voice and face both serious as the grave. “Like a lung.” 

Ronan wanted to laugh at that. At the drama of it. His own lungs burned and ached. He swallowed. Adam’s thumb was pressed against Ronan’s wrist, his skin warm and a little rough against Ronan’s. 

“I know I haven’t said it yet,” Adam said. “But I’m so fucking happy you’re back. With us.” 

Ronan wished he would say it again, and again, and again. He wanted too much, he always did. He wanted Adam to hug him like Gansey had. To tell him he loved him. To let Ronan say it back. For there not to be this wall between them because Ronan had been so… so stupid. 

“Gotta admit,” Ronan got out, “that it’s always fun to hear you swear, Parrish.” 

Adam let go of his sleeve, smiled a little. 

“You’re a fucking menace, Lynch,” he offered up. “I’ll see you soon?” 

Ronan missed him already. He shrugged. 

If this was Matthew, they’d bear hug. If this was Declan, Ronan would get a shoulder squeeze. If this was Blue, or Gansey, or even Henry, it’d be a hug, tight and friendly. Blue even kissed his cheek sometimes. 

Adam smiled at him, left. 

Ronan missed him already. 


	8. Chapter 8

Life drawing on Monday was really fun. He didn’t always model, because sometimes he wanted to get to draw, but he was modeling tonight. 

If the group had been comprised of people like him (shitty, horrible, rotten), he wouldn’t feel comfortable modeling. They were pretty much the opposite of him though, in the fact that they didn’t stare at him there naked and analyse all his flaws and his weak spots and figure out how best to hurt him.

Which wasn’t to say, of course, that he spent his time drawing the other models analysing, and plotting destruction of them, but maybe he would if he wasn’t working hard on trying to be better. 

Anyway. He was modeling tonight. Boxing gave him good core strength which helped with the keeping still part, but he hadn’t realised that it really required flexibility and balance as well, and a large portion of his time modeling was spent focusing very hard on keeping his balance. When he wasn’t using his entire being to keep from toppling over sideways, he was thinking about Adam. 

It wasn’t on purpose. It was just - 

It was just that here, he was surrounded by people who were looking at him and seeing him whole and drawing him all anyway, and - 

He didn’t mean to think of Adam, but when his brain was lax, and he wasn’t all wound up and taut, that was just where his thoughts went. It was almost embarrassing that it was still like that, that he’d just up and left his friends and family to go drown himself in filth, and his most common thought when he had space left to actually think, was the man who’d rejected him. 

For the first few months he’d tried to hate Adam. Not for any sensible reason, it had just felt like it might be easier. But. He hadn’t hated Adam that night on the deck, or the morning after, or anytime that week. He hadn’t hated him when he saw him at Aurora’s funeral, or when he left before coming to speak to Ronan. Ronan hadn’t been able to hate Adam when he had tried, and that had been embarrassing too. 

The years he’d been away, he’d dreamed about seeing Adam again. About Adam finding him accidentally one day, Ronan drugged and desperate and  _ disgusting _ , and Adam being able to know he’d made the right decision in turning him down. Or, Ronan getting clean and just suddenly turning back up in everyone’s lives, healthy and put together. Adam was always so - so proud of him in that scenario. Proud, but distant. 

This Adam wasn’t an Adam he had imagined or made little scenarios up about. This Adam was equal parts the Adam he knew and a new Adam. A more confident Adam, an Adam with enough of himself to give other parts to people without draining himself. He had been scared that the newness in Adam would be a part of Adam that wouldn’t want to partake in any of his past, wouldn’t want to see Ronan. It had only been an anxious thought though, nothing more. 

This Adam was the Adam he had hoped Adam would be, back in Henrietta, when he’d let himself look at Adam and  _ hope _ . 

It wasn’t fair that he had come back and found out that Adam was someone Ronan wanted even more than he had when he’d left. It wasn’t fair that  _ Adam _ had found him, a half incoherent prayer answered immediately, and that it didn’t even mean anything.

It did mean something. It meant something to him. 

“Ronan?” Aria said in the tone of someone who’s been repeating the same word for a while, “Hey? Still with us?” 

“Sorry,” Ronan said, focused his eyes quickly so that the soft blur of the overhead light sharpened into the room he was sitting in. “I zoned out a long way.” 

Aria and a few others laughed. 

“All good,” Aria said easily. “Ready to move onto a new pose?” 

-

“You good?” Blue asked, once they’d left for the night and were on their way home. 

She had her arm looped around Ronan’s, and stuffed into his pocket, int he pretence of being cold. He had called her pocket sized, and she’d pinche his hand which was also in his pocket. 

“Sure,” Ronan said.

“Are you going out tonight?” Blue asked, letting Ronan end that string of conversation. 

Ronan waved his free hand vaguely at the sky above them. “I’m out.” 

“Okay smart ass,” Blue said, he could  _ hear _ in her voice that she was rolling her eyes. “I meant later, once we get home and me and number three go to bed.” 

Ronan frowned, scrunching his nose up, let Blue’s unspoken reprimand hang inside his chest for a moment. 

“I don’t think so,” he offered eventually, once Blue had taken his hand in his pocket and held it in hers. “Last time was - was… bad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Sargant,” he grunted. “I pay a therapist to make me talk about things I don’t wanna talk about.” 

“Fair enough,” Blue said, squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure I super wanna hear this stuff anyway. But. You know that if you do need to talk to someone else about it. Someone who isn’t your therapist. You can talk to Gansey, or me, or, like, Henry. I’m sure - I’m sure Adam would be happy to listen if you needed to talk.” 

Ronan scoffed. Blue squeezed his hand again. 

“Are you going to hang your painting of me on the wall?” Ronan asked then, very much needing to change the subject. “I think it would be a great addition to your decor. Something truly striking, and maybe a little intimidating, to greet new guests with.” 

“Hmm,” Blue said, “while I do think having a life sized, purple, nude of you in our lounge would be, just like, utterly  _ scrumptious _ , I’m not sure how Gansey would feel about it if his parents were to visit.” 

“It’d probably be the easiest way to come out to them,” Ronan said, grinned at Blue’s laugh. “Why  _ hello _ , mother, father. As you can probably tell from this beautifully rendered drawing, I like looking at guys and gals.” 

Blue laughed a little more, jostled their shoulders (or, bumped her shoulders against his arms because her shoulders just  _ did not _ reach that high). “Rude,” she said. 

-

“So,” Kit said, “You didn’t want to talk about it with any of your friends, then?” 

“No,” Ronan grunted. He was midway through unlacing his Docs so he could chuck them off and pull his legs up underneath him on the couch he was on. “It’s too - it’s to personal for them.” 

“Too personal?” Kit prompted. “Like how you were saying earlier that you still feel like there’s a - a layer of distance between you and them?” 

“No,” Ronan sighed, got one foot free. “I mean - I mean they already have to spend so much of their time worrying about me, they’ve already heard and seen so much of the shit I’ve done and still do. I don’t want to have to take up any more of their - their space with more shit.” 

“Will telling someone about the shit clear up some space in your mind?” 

Ronan shrugged, pulled his legs up underneath him and crossed his arms. Nodded. 

“So,” Kit said, also shuffling around to fold their legs under them. “Tell me about why it gave you pause, that night.” 

Ronan sighed again. He found himself sighing a lot in therapy. Maybe he needed more oxygen because he was talking more. Maybe it was an anxiety thing. Maybe he was just trying to take up time. He scratched at his thigh through his jeans. 

“His name was Joey,” Ronan said. 

“Ah,” Kit nodded. “Like the Joseph Kavinsky you mentioned.” 

Ronan nodded as well, picked at the seam of his jeans, kept his eyes down on his hands. “It just - I had a - I guess it gave me a flashback. Or something. I - I’ve told you how K was - K was the first guy I had sex with. He followed me out of Henrietta. He gave me my first drugs. Taught me how to pay for them. And I just - I try not to think about it most of the time.” 

Kit gave him the space here to just run over his thoughts, didn’t try to ask any questions. 

“I guess I was still - later on, having sex, or - or being used for sex, I just didn’t - it wasn’t - fuck. Most of the time when I had sex, I was drugged up, or in withdrawal and desperate, or, or who the fuck knows, and I barely paid attention to the actual - to the actual sex. Like. I mean. Sometimes it was uncomfortable, or sore, and I’d pay attention to that, or like, if it was good, but - but I didn’t pay  _ attention _ .” 

He wasn’t explaining it very well, but when he glanced up at Kit, they nodded back at him, so he carried on. 

“I wasn’t at that stage yet when I - when I did it with K. I could still be hurt. I still had feelings and emotions that he could twist and cut into and - and - and it was -” 

He was breathing too hard, too hard and too fast and he had to stop again here, to bend himself over his knees, to hold on to himself.

Once he felt like his lungs weren’t going to burst, and his blood wasn’t going to boil, he sat up straight again, avoided looking at Kit. 

“It was the fucking worst thing that ever happened to me,” he said, cleared his throat, “and I found my father’s dead fucking body,  _ and _ my mother’s dead body. I went to one of my best friend’s funerals. But K was the worst fucking thing that has ever happened to me.” 

Kit was nodding, like somehow Ronan was making sense, wasn’t sounding stupid and self involved. 

“And the worst thing is,” Ronan carried on, while he still had the momentum to, “is that K didn’t just happen to me, I let him happen to me. It was my fault. I set out to fucking ruin myself, and I really fucking did.” 

They both sat in silence for a moment then. Kit casually pushing the tissue box closer, Ronan snatching a handful. Kit broke the silence once Ronan opened his eyes. 

“I don’t think you’re ruined, Ronan,” Kit said. “And I certainly don’t think what K did to you was your fault. I think K took advantage of someone deep in grief and depression, and abused you horribly. What he did to you wasn’t your fault.” 

-

It was easier listening to Kit tell him it wasn’t his fault than it was telling himself that. He wasn’t stupid, he didn’t think that this absolved him of everything, that he could just say, well, I was sad and therefore my actions have no consequences.    
  
He did leave. He did choose to cut himself off. He did choose to drink, and drug, and debauch himself. But it maybe choices made by a clear mind. It was choices made and persuaded into action by outside influences. 

Everytime he tried to say to himself. ‘Hey fucker. Not all of this is your fault.’ his brain would come up with a very cunning retort about how actually, it kind of really was his fault, and he could get lost in the argument with himself for far too long. It was easier, much easier, to just not.

-

“Matty,” Ronan said, during Thursday’s very sunny afternoon. “Sit down for a moment.” 

They were at the ice skating rink, because apparently Matthew’s idea of the most fantastic fun was to strap knives to his feet and hurl himself at freezing concrete while a million other idiots did the same thing. Ronan had self delegated himself to the sidelines with Matthew’s phone to take photos for him, and to also hold the vaguely sticky can of soda Matthew had. 

Matthew had been skidding past backwards when Ronan called to him, but once he’d finished whichever trick he was in the middle of, he whisked himself straight back to Ronan and off of the rink, as cheerfully obedient as ever.

They sat at one of the plastic tables around the sides of the rink, something bright orange spilled on its grainy top. 

“What’s up?” Matthew asked, taking his soda back from Ronan and taking a gulp, “You wanna give it a go, now? I’ll hold your hand!” 

“Nah,” Ronan shook his head with a quick laugh, “no. I’m perfectly fucking fine just watching you. You’ve gotten really good!” 

“It’s so fun!” Matthew enthused, “I play hockey with my friends sometimes, and I’m super good at checking! But only when everyone’s all padded up properly ‘cause I’d feel so bad if I hurt someone!” 

“Checking?” Ronan asked, then waved his hand quickly before Matthew could fill him in with intricate detail. “Explain it to me later,” he said. “Listen.” 

“I’m listening,” Matthew said, getting in quick before Ronan could continue. 

Ronan rolled his eyes, couldn’t help but grin. “Okay,” he said, reached over to punch Matthew’s arm playfully. “I just wanted to say, because I’ve been back a while, and I never really said it properly, y’know. I just wanted to - fuck, Matty.” 

Matthew’s clear smile had dropped away from his face, and he looked positively forlorn now as he scooted his chair closer to Ronan and gripped onto his arm, looking like he was absolutely expecting to hear something horrible.

“Hey,” Ronan said, scruffed Matthew’s hair carefully, cleared his throat. “It’s okay. I just wanted to properly say sorry. For taking off like I did back then. I was really fucked up, but I shouldn’t have just left you. You and Dec. Especially not after mum. I never wanted to hurt you guys, but I did, and I - I’m just really grateful I still have you, after everything. So. Um. What I  _ wanted _ to say, was, thanks, bud.” 

Matthew’s lower lip trembled, but he seemed to be keeping himself somewhat vaguely under control, even as he flung his arms around Ronan’s shoulder to hug him tightly. 

“You’re my brother,” Matthew exclaimed, “and I  _ love _ you! I could never! I’d always take you back! Dec too.” 

“Thanks,” Ronan repeated, cleared his throat again, squeezed Matthew back. “Thanks.” 

He’d spent a while on his little speech. Well. He’d spent a while prepping himself for being able to say, to get the words out with the matching sincerity, because they deserved to be said without a hint of sarcasm. He meant the words, and he wanted Matthew to know it. 

“Okay,” Ronan said once Matthew pulled pack a little. He wiped at Matthew’s now wet cheeks, and tried to grin at him. “Okay. Tell me about checking?” 

-

“You’ve not gone out recently,” Gansey said that evening, while Ronan fiddled with Gansey’s phone as Gansey stirred pasta sauce on the stove. 

Ronan grunted, seeing as that had been a statement not a question. 

“Giving the apps a break?” Gansey asked lightly, glanced over his shoulder, apparently unperturbed at the sight of Ronan with his phone. 

“Deleted them,” Ronan said, taking his own phone out as well. “There’s only so many dick pics I can receive before I go fucking insane.” 

“It is so horrible,” Gansey exclaimed to the sauce, “how people can just - how they presume that such crude pictures would be welcome. No, in fact, I’ve read quite a few books on this sort of thing, because of course you know Jane’s written some parts of her thesis on similar topics, and so she had a lot of books, and you know what? It’s quite a common consensus that the sending of unsolicited photos of genitalia is much less of a flirtation technique from a lot of men, and more of an intimidation technique. See-” 

Ronan locked Gansey’s phone again, fiddled with his own for a moment longer, than locked that as well.

-

Thursday   
9:23 PM   
To - Parrish

_ -its ronan _

From - Parrish

~ _ i see you’ve learned how to text _

To - Parrish

_ -i see ur still a rude fucking bastard _

From - Parrish

_ ~what’d you want, Lynch? :)  _

To - Parrish

_ -wanna get coffee _

From - Parrish

_ ~right now?  _

To - Parrish

_ -no dipshit. 2morrow. ?  _

From - Parrish

_ ~i can do 10.30 am or 2.40? _

To - Parrish

_ -shit man. 2.40. meet u at urs? _

From - Parrish

_ ~i’ll be intown, can we meet near campus? _

To - Parrish

_ -disgusting. ok.  _

From - Parrish

_ ~:)  _


	9. Chapter 9

Adam had texted Ronan about noon, to clarify where they’d meet, and had even gotten a text back. He hadn’t thought that Ronan had come to like texting anymore than he had as a teenager - Gansey certainly talked as if he still hated phones with a burning passion - and yet. 

It didn’t mean anything, of course. People did things they hated all the time. For instance, Adam was helping his mate Elijah grade a bunch of first year med tests, and Adam definitely hated doing that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like helping people, or like, sharing knowledge or what the fuck ever, it was more that first year med students tended to have a good helping of idiots who thought this class would be easy, and their answers were just fucking frustrating. Whatever. 

He got though the grading, then sat and finished off one of his own essays while Elijah finished off the first year essays he was looking through, packed up, and then headed down the block to go meet Ronan. 

He’d suggested a coffee shop that was quieter than a lot of the others around campus; it was a little bit more on the expensive side, and it was a lot more peopled by those working nearby than by students. He thought Ronan would probably appreciate not being surrounded by the sleep deprived and occasionally entirely insane university students. 

Ronan was easy to spot, waiting outside the cafe. Where he usually wore all black and stood out among their friends like a raven amongst parrots, today he’d donned a bright pink jacket that looked suspiciously like a Blue special. It had safety pins up the arms, and paint splattered across the back in what was probably a pattern or picture or something, but Adam wasn’t wearing his glasses and couldn’t tell from here. Standing still among all the men and women in suits bustling around the street, Ronan looked more like a flamingo among penguins. 

Ronan turned when Adam touched his shoulder, his posture defensive for a moment before he saw it was Adam. Adam drew his hand back, hurt at the thought that he had hurt Ronan. Again. At the reminder hat Ronan was a lot more flinch than flint now. 

“You’re late,” Ronan said, his hands were stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, “I’ve had to stand here and glare at a million of these idiots stuffed into their uncomfortable looking pants.” 

“Well you didn’t have to,” Adam pointed out with a grin, “sorry for keeping you waiting, though. Let’s go in?” 

Ronan nodded, and they moved towards the cafe. 

“Did Blue decorate the jacket?” Adam asked, holding the door open for Ronan. “It looks good on you.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan said, pausing just inside the door to wait the half moment it took Adam to step back up beside him. “Apparently pink is the colour of my aura today, according to Blue’s tarot calendar.” 

“Ah,” Adam nodded seriously, “it is a very wise calendar.” 

“I’ve been led to believe,” Ronan said, glaring up at the menu above the counter, “that you made and gifted that calendar.” 

“Well,” Adam shrugged, smiled at the server who appeared beside them, “It was a gag gift. That table there? Thank you.” 

They sat by the window with their artisan menus, and Ronan plucked a pink thread from his sleeve. 

“No truth in it then?” He asked, flicked the threat at Adam. “I shouldn’t wear pink?” 

“I said it was a gag gift,” Adam said with a shrug, “not that it told lies. I think you look great in pink.” 

Ronan scoffed, smiled nonetheless. 

“You’re looking good,” Adam said before he could help himself, “with or without the pink.” 

“I work out,” Ronan offered, shifted his smile to a quickly manufactured sneer, mimed flexing. “And apparently eating real food on a regular basis does wonders for the physique or some fucking shit like that.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Adam agreed, watched Ronan’s eyes flick around Adam’s frame. “I’m still not the best at the whole regular real food thing, it drove my - it drove my old flatmate, Kel, crazy.” 

Ronan frowned then, picked at the edge of the table where the wood looked a little splintered - like someone had banged a chair into it. 

“Despite what you’ve been told,” Ronan said, “I’m not fucking fragile. I’m not gonna, like, relapse or some shit just because you mention an ex. I’m not that much of an asshole.” 

Adam closed his eyes, wished he hadn’t left his stupid reading glasses at uni over something as stupid as vanity. Should just get contacts. 

“I know,” he said once he’d opened his eyes again. “It’s not so much that I was worried about you, Lynch, it was more that I - I guess I’m adjusting to - I didn’t realise you knew about Kel. It seemed like a useless tangent to go on, explaining who they were, or whatever. It was stupid.” 

“Yeah it was stupid,” Ronan agreed easily, “‘cos you just explained way more than you would’ve had to if you’d just been like, ‘my ex, Kel’.” 

Adam nodded his head in concession, ran his hand through his hair. “True.” 

“So,” Ronan said, “uh. I heard you two broke up recently?” 

“Mm,” Adam nodded, wondered who had told him and why. It didn’t really seem relevant. “Yeah. I’d like to say it was mutual, but they did the dumping.” 

“You were too studious?” Ronan guessed, at least half a joke. 

“Nah,” Adam smirked a little. “They were even more into uni than me. But. We wanted different things, I guess. And - and I guess they always came a bit - a bit second, and they were tired of it.” 

“Second?” Ronan pressed, “In what? Cards?” 

Adam was pretty sure Ronan was still joking, me he answered seriously anyway. “In life,” he said. “Which wasn’t fair on them. I was preoccupied with other things. So.” 

“You don’t sound very cut up about it,” Ronan said, glanced over his shoulder as if he were looking for someone to take his order. 

It was true. Adam had felt a little bit guilty about his lack of upset. 

“I’m not,” he said truthfully. “Which I guess is more proof it wasn’t going anywhere. I liked Kel a lot, but - I guess never enough.” 

Ronan nodded, a waitress appeared, they placed their coffee orders. 

Ronan explained a little about the life modeling while they waited for their coffee, Adam asking how he got into it, and if the whole group took turns modeling. When their coffee arrived, Ronan pushed his chair back a bit, stretched his legs under the table, his booted feet knocking against Adam’s. 

“I’m thinking about doing a uni course,” Ronan said without warning, slurped his frappe. “Something that I’m sure Declan will think frivolous, like classics, or art, or even, like, agriculture, but. I kinda want some more structure in my life.” 

Adam blew on his coffee to give him a moment more to take it in. Ronan, willingly talking about going back into any kind of education. He supposed it was a lot different to high school. University, if you had the money and the time, was all about choice. You chose to go, you chose your classes, you chose to keep it up. 

“I could see you doing ag,” Adam said, “or like, something to do with literature. Ancient lit, maybe. You still speak latin?” 

“Male,” Ronan shrugged, “autem, etiam.”

Adam smiled, took a careful sip of his coffee. “Better than me,” he said. “I basically only know the bits relevant for med now. I was never as fluent as you.” 

“You can’t be fluent in a dead language,” Ronan said, shrugging off the compliment. 

“It never sounded dead when you spoke it,” Adam shot back. 

Ronan choked a little on his frappe. 

“I guess,” Adam continued, “you’ll wait out the end of the year? Apply for the following year rather than come in half way?” 

“I guess,” Ronan agreed, wiping cream off of his lip. “Gives me more time to work out what I want.” 

Adam was pretty sure Ronan wouldn’t want Adam telling him he was proud of him, so he swallowed that particular swamp of words down. 

“I figured,” Ronan said, licked the cream off of his fingers now, “that you could - that you might be able to help. With the figuring out what I want to do at uni.” 

“I can,” Adam said quickly, “I mean. I will. I’d be happy to.” 

“Okay,” Ronan said. 

-

They didn’t really talk about much after that, just talked. About the coffee, about Gansey, Blue, Henry, about Chainsaw, about how weird marzipan tasted. 

Adam had to get to another class at four thirty, which cut into their talking about shit time, but not too much. Ronan side stepped in front of Adam at the counter, paid for him. 

“Hey,” Adam said, following Ronan outside, putting his wallet back into his jeans pocket. “I can pay for myself.” 

“I fucking know,” Ronan said, “never said you couldn’t.” 

It felt a little bit like a challenge, or a something. Ronan testing something out, checking if it was safe to do… Adam didn’t know. Checking to see if Adam was still the easily infuriated teenager he had been, when he hadn’t been able to accept shit all from anyone. Adam wasn’t about to try and fight this. If it was a challenge, his answer was to step back. 

That appeared to be the right answer, though of course Adam might have just been reading into everything too much, but. It  _ appeared _ to be the right answer, because after Adam had shrugged and not followed up on the issue, Ronan had glanced over his shoulder, then stepped in closer, and hugged him. 

Adam hadn’t thought of himself as… as lonesome for a while. He had had good friends for years now, good company, good people around him. He had thought he was getting enough socialisation in, enough touch in, enough affection. 

Ronan’s arms around him, his skin against Adam’s - it was - 

He felt like he had been starved and starved and starved for years and Ronan was his first bite of food, his first sip of water. He felt like an idiot fo feeling just a simple hug all the way down to the pit of his stomach and up into his throat and pooling in his eyes like he was, but he couldn’t help it. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been hugged in a while. Elijah had hugged him when he’d seen him earlier. He had friends who hugged him all the time. It was something he was used to, gave back. 

Ronan’s arms loosened around him, signalling the end of the hug, and Adam’s brain screwed itself up and threw out any sense, and instructed his own arms to tighten around Ronan more, forestalling the end of the contact. 

Ronan huffed out a short puff of surprise, but didn’t try to pull away, just tightened his arms back around Adam, inhaled slowly. Adam cleared his throat. 

“Sorry,” he said, voice doing something stupid and being too breathy. “Um. Sorry.” He released Ronan, grabbing back the reins of his brain, stepped backwards. “It was. Really nice. To see you,” he said haltingly, rubbed at his shoulder where Ronan’s head had rested momentarily. “I really - I wanna see you again soon.” 

Ronan’s face was doing something complicated, his eyes were fixed on Adam’s, like he could tell how watery they’d be in just a few moments. 

“I’ve class,” Adam said, “so I gotta go.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan said, eyes still digging into Adam’s. “I’ll see you soon, Parrish.” 

-

Adam hadn’t been expecting Ronan to text him again, certainly not to just chat, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it. He still felt very - very much like he was almost on probation. Like he couldn’t make any of the first moves of getting closer to Ronan, couldn’t text first. Luckily that wasn’t a problem. Ronan texted him first just a few hours after their coffee, a complaint about the stupid drivers in the inner city. Adam had texted him back a reminder that Ronan was just bitter because he wanted to be one of the stupid drivers. 

They texted on and off throughout the rest of the evening, and then the next day as well, and even the day following. It wasn’t anything of substance. More often than not it was Ronan sending Adam pictures of Chainsaw doing bird things and not bird things (Chainsaw things). 

So. It might not have really been  _ much _ , but it still - it was still something that felt like a helium balloon in his guts. That stuck like a burr in his brain. 

-

“I must admit I was a little surprised when I saw your message,” Reagan, Adam’s therapist, said. “You haven’t had an appointment for almost a year. Not that it isn’t good to see you,” she added, granting Adam a small smile, “but I suppose I thought I wouldn’t see you again.” 

Adam nodded a little. He hadn’t been quite as optimistic as she had, but still. 

“The last few months have been… weird,” he said, “I guess I wanted to be able to talk it through with someone who wasn’t involved.” 

Reagan nodded, uncrossed her legs, and then recrossed them in the other direction. “Alright,” she said, “tell me about these weird months.” 

Adam did, as much as he could without admitting that he used… somewhat magical forces to find Ronan. He told her that he’d helped Declan figure out where Ronan was, told her about how Declan had asked him not to come see Ronan, told her how that made sense to him. About how he and Kel had ended things, and he was horribly pleased that they were ending things because Ronan was back, was back, was back.    
Told her about seeing Ronan again the first time, bloodied and drunk and thinking he was hallucinating Adam. How ripped to shreds it made him feel. How ripped to shreds he still felt, even now he and Ronan were fragile friends. 

“Well,” Reagan said, once Adam and his monologue of woes had finished. “That was, actually, a lot weirder than I had been expecting. That’s a lot for you to have to take in.” 

Adam nodded, bent a little over his knees so he could hold onto his calves like somehow that was going to help him appear put together. He guessed he didn’t need to look put together, he was here for a reason, after all. 

“So,” Reagan said, “you and Kel are still friends?” 

“Mhm,” Adam shrugged. “Yeah. I mean. We’re nowhere near as close as we were, but. I mean. I don’t - I feel bad about the fact that I don’t care that we aren’t.” 

“You feel bad, doesn’t that count as caring?” 

“No,” Adam grimaced, “I mean - I get that, yeah, I do have like - but.” He sighed, took a moment to sort out his words, and then tried again. “I’m not at all upset about the break up. Or about the loss of - of closeness with them. I am upset that I can still be so self involved. It feels like, like I was just using Kel as a - a stand in for something. Ronan. I guess. I don’t want to have just used them. I didn’t think I was using them when we were together.” 

Reagan nodded, let Adam breathe it out for a short moment before responding. “I remember when you and Kel got together,” she said, “and for what it counts, I never thought your affection for them was anything but genuine. Relationships play out. Sometimes things just aren’t to be. I don’t think your lack of despair over the end of something that had finished is a bad thing, Adam.” 

“That’s another problem,” Adam said, released his calves and wrapped his arms around his torso instead. “I thought I was - I thought I was over Ronan. I thought - he’d been gone three years. I tried not to think about him at all except when I was actively looking for him. I - I feel like an idiot for seeing him again and feeling just like I did at eighteen.” 

“Just like you did?” 

“Well,” Adam bit out a groan. “Not just like. At eighteen I was - I was scared of how much I could feel, of - of not knowing. I was eighteen. I wasn’t very good at those emotions, I hadn’t had much practice. So I guess when I say just like, I mean, I mean I’m seeing it all through a different lens, but it’s the same - the same - the same, uh, affection.” 

“Affection?” 

“Love,” Adam adjusted, almost a wail. “I loved him then, so much, too much, enough that it terrified me. I’d thought it had dwindled into just - into just, I don’t know. Missing him. Friendship. So when I saw him and I just felt this overwhelming - this stupid rush of like,  _ I love him _ , it was like -” 

Reagan waited a few beats for him to finish his sentence, and when it became clear that he was unable to, she chipped in. 

“And it still terrifies you? How much you love him.” 

“It makes me feel like an idiot,” Adam clarified. “Because we’re different people, and we didn’t get to do the growing side by side, and I shouldn’t be feeling the exact same for him as I did then. It’s not fair on him.” 

“Why isn’t it fair on him? Are you demanding he do something about your feelings?” 

“No,” Adam said, rubbed his hand over his cheek. “It’s not fair on him because he’s - he’s doing so well, Reagan. He’s - he’s gotten clean, he’s trying to build his life back up. He doesn’t need me with all my stupid feelings coming in and stomping all over his recovery.” 

“You don’t think he returns our feelings at all?” 

“I don’t think he should,” Adam admitted. “I turned him down once, and I think he probably counted that as the end of any possibility of us.” 

-

  
  


Wednesday was the first day since their coffee date - not that it had been a  _ date _ of course - that Ronan hadn’t texted. It would have been stupid for Adam to worry, it wasn’t like Ronan was under any obligation to text him, or communicate with him in anyway. So.    
  
He considered texting Ronan himself. Being the first to start the conversation. But. If Ronan didn’t text back, he knew it would upset him. Stupidly. Stupid. Stupid. 

None of this stopped him from checking his phone constantly throughout the day. From getting a quick leap of hope everytime he got a notification, and then the quick sinking feeling when he found out the text wasn’t from Ronan. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

-

Stupider somehow even still, when Gansey texted him that evening. 

Wednesday 

7:06 PM 

From - Gansey

_ -I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Ronan today?  _

To - Gansey 

_ ~No, is everything ok?  _

From - Gansey 

_ -Today isn’t a good day for him.  _

_ -I haven’t seen him since this morning.  _

_ -I’m sure everything is fine! _

To - Gansey 

_ ~I’ll let you know if I hear from him.  _

-

He felt the stupidest now. Only just realising so late in the day  _ what _ day it was. The anniversary of Aurora’s death. He hadn’t even considered that it was coming up. Had forgotten in the rush of Ronan being back, that the time Adam usually took to feel especially down himself was coming up as well. Ronan leaving was a date very firmly etched in his mind, callously over taking the date of Aurora’s death. 

He texted Ronan. 

7:12PM 

To - Ronan 

_ -if there’s anything you need, let me know.  _

-

Ronan didn’t text back, but the knock on Adam’s door at quarter to nine was a very distinctly Ronan kind of knock, and it was better than any text. 

Adam had been studying at the kitchen table, knocked a few papers onto the floor in his haste to stand up and get to the door. 

Like the last time Ronan had come here, he was leaning against the wall by the door. Unlike the last time, he was obviously drunk. 

“I can’t go back to Gansey right now,” Ronan said, voice impressively stable. “Don’t wanna disappoint him.” 

“Better me than him, I guess,” Adam said, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to be disappointed in Ronan. Worried, though? Yes. “Come in.” 

Ronan swayed in, bringing with him the acrid smell of vodka and nothing else, like it had bleached Ronan of all other scent. 

“Sit down,” Adam directed waving Ronan in the direction of his cluttered table. “I’ll get you a glass of water.” 

Ronan sat down, seemingly agreeable enough. Sat down. Took the water from Adam, drank the water. Grabbed onto Adam’s wrist, his eyes and his hands heavy. 

“You said to say if I needed something,” he said, the alcohol suddenly louder in his voice, like he’d used up any and all of his soberness to get here. “Make me forget.” 

“Ronan,” Adam said, shifted his arm in Ronan’s hand until he was out of his grip and instead just holding Ronan’s hand in his. “What do you need?” 

“This,” Ronan said, a little fierce. “Adam. Please. Just - I can’t ask anyone else.” 

It took a while for the cogs in Adam’s brain to shift enough to figure out what Ronan meant. To sift through the knowledge he had of Ronan’s methods of self-harm and self-medication. 

“Oh, no,” Adam said, “no. Lynch. I’m not doing that.” 

Ronan sighed, his breath a fire hazard in Adam’s face. “I need it,” he said, his fingers flexing in Adam’s hand. “I can’t shut my brain up. I can’t - I’ve drunk so much I can barely think but I can’t make it stop. I can’t make it stop.” 

“I’m sorry,” Adam tried, shifted his grip on Ronan so he could kneel down on the floor beside the chair. “I’m sorry it hurts.” 

“Don’t,” Ronan growled, “I  _ want _ it to hurt. I need it to - I need -” 

“No,” Adam repeated, wanted and didn’t want at the same time to meet Ronan’s level of fierce. “If you want someone to fuck you and make you hurt so you can forget about a different type of hurt, you chose the wrong place to come.” 

Ronan didn’t reply immediately, just tipped forwards a little, enough that he could rest his forehead against Adam’s shoulder. Dragged his hand free from Adam’s only to claw his fingers into Adam’s shirt to hold him tight. 

“So don’t make it hurt,” he suggested, voice tight. “Just fuck me and - and - and - I just need -” 

  
  


This was worse than Adam could have predicted. Did Ronan really think Adam cared for him so little that he would take advantage of him like this? Grief stricken and drunk. Out of his mind? Did Ronan really care for him so little that he would ask him this? 

He swallowed back his own grief, his own anger, the stupid part of him that wanted to give in to Ronan’s requests, make it hurt for the both of them. Make it goo for the both of them. Ruin everything they had both worked so hard for. 

“That’s not what you need,” Adam said, wished he could take it back immediately. Felt pretentious and stupid trying to put needs and words into Ronan’s mouth. Tried to make it better. “Tell me what you really need, what you really want, right now, Ronan. I wanna help.” 

Ronan’s head was still on his shoulder, his hands still gripping tight to Adam’s shirt. Adam’s arms were wrapped somewhat awkwardly around Ronan’s shoulders, equal parts comfort and balance. 

“Why didn’t you speak to me at the funeral?” Ronan asked, the question blindsiding Adam. “I saw you, and then you were gone.” 

“I -” Adam frowned, turned his head so his face pressed against Ronan’s neck. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” 

“I always want to see you,” Ronan grumbled, angry and earnest as one. “I thought I’d ruined everything. When you left.” 

“No,” Adam said. Sighed. Tried to recollect his thoughts, to try and think on the same angle Ronan was thinking. He’d probably need at least half a bottle of vodka to do that, though. “You didn’t. You didn’t. You haven’t.” 

“I was thinking about you, y’know,” Ronan said. “When Declan had me found. When you found me.” 

“Hm?” 

“I was thinking about you,” Ronan repeated. “In that stupid shit hole of a bar. I was thinking about you.” 

Oh. 

Adam tightened his arms around Ronan, couldn’t help but think it must be an uncomfortable position for him, leaning off of the chair. 

“Why?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Ronan said. “I missed you.” 

None of this seemed… conducive. Like. Like it was cheating for this kind of thing to be said while drunk. For them to be clinging to each other like this. 

“Do you wanna sleep?” Adam asked, quiet. “You can stay here. Sleep here.” 

Ronan sighed again, loud in Adam’s ear. 

“I never stay the night after,” Ronan said. 

“There’s not going to be an after,” Adam reminded him, “I’m not doing anything while you’re drunk. We’re not doing anything while you’re drunk. When I say sleep, I mean sleep.” 

Ronan still sounded discontented, but he didn’t say anything. Just nodded. 

“C’mon then,” Adam said, began to get up, still holding onto Ronan. “Do you wanna shower first?” 

“No,” Ronan said. He allowed himself to be pulled into standing, his head still fixed firmly to Adam’s shoulder, his hands still clinging tightly. “No. Don’t fucking let go of me.” 

“Okay,” Adam said, “okay. D’you need anything to eat?” 

“No,” Ronan said. He wasn’t even really holding himself up anymore, dropping his weight on Adam instead. 

“Okay,” Adam said again. He had been wanting to get an opportunity to hug Ronan again, but this really wasn’t what he’d been thinking about. “Straight to bed, then?” 

They waddled their way to Adam’s room, the both of them handicapped by the other, and when they reached the bed, Ronan let himself be sat down on the edge of it.

Together they worked Ronan’s shoes off, and his jacket. Adam let him be the one to undo his jeans and shimmy out of them. They left his tank top on. Once Ronan was under the blankets, Adam tried to go back out to turn off lights, grab his phone, get more water, etc, but Ronan grabbed onto the back of his shirt. 

“Please,” he said. “Don’t leave me.” 

Like a punch to the throat, that was. He turned in Ronan’s grip, placed his hands over Ronan’s knotted in his shirt. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. “Honestly. I just need to lock up, grab you some water.” 

Ronan’s eyes were closed, his fists tight. “I won’t be able to find you.” 

“Ronan,” Adam said, “I promise I’ll be right back. The door’ll be open. You’ll be able to hear me the whole time.” 

Ronan released him. Didn’t say anything. Adam fought back the urge to reach down and kiss him, just a quick kiss of reassurance. He was probably handling all of this so badly. His training for The Angels didn’t reach to what to do with drunk and desolate people once they were in your house. He was just transport. He didn’t know what Ronan really needed, what was going to be good for him. 

Really, he ought to be studying more. Maybe he should get Gansey to pick Ronan up. He locked the door, collected his phone from the table. Filled up a water bottle for Ronan. Brushed his teeth, turned the lights out. 

Returned to Ronan, handed him the water bottle. 

He sent a quick text to Gansey, saying that Ronan was with him, was safe. Not to worry. 

Stripped down to his briefs and and pulled an over large t-shirt on. Remembered too late it had belonged to Ronan, many years ago now. Got into the bed next to Ronan. 

Ronan hadn’t said a word this whole time, still didn’t. Rolled over to face Adam. 

“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” Ronan said with remarkable clarity. “Sorry.” 

“Well,” Adam said, his stomach feeling itchy. “I’ll try not to add any more regrets for you.” 

“Please,” Ronan said, “please. Do.” 

It would be useless to pretend that it wasn’t incredibly warming, lying here in bed next to Ronan, useless to pretend he didn’t love it when Ronan’s hand brushed his, lying under the sheet. 

“Just hold me,” Ronan said. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Ronan would probably prefer to be held by Gansey, or Blue. Would probably prefer to be there if he didn’t feel so shitty about being drunk. The fact that he came to Adam meant nothing. It didn’t. It meant nothing, no matter how hard Adam’s heart beat over it. He reached his arm out to Ronan, pulled him close. 

They’d deal with the fallout in the morning. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments guys!

It was hard to tell if he’d woken up before Adam. Adam had always had this preternatural ability to appear as still and quiet as the dead, fading into backgrounds when necessary. Ronan used to have the ability to always see Adam even in the background, but he was out of practice now, and it was difficult to tell just from Adam’s breathing if he was awake or not. 

They were lying back to stomach, Adam’s shirt rucked up and pressing a long expanse of his bare stomach against Ronan’s spine. Adam’s arm was hooked over Ronan’s waist, and his hand was pressed to Ronan’s chest. 

Though he’d slept with both Gansey, and Gansey and Blue recently, he hadn’t woken up in any kind of embrace. Gansey starfished, and Blue kicked, and even if you started out as he and Gansey had done previously, fallen asleep holding each other, they would always wake up on opposite sides of the bed. When Ronan had snuck into St Agnes, all those years ago, and slept beside Adam whose mattress had him almost on the floor anyway, they would always end up rolled together. Adam on the edge of his mattress, shoulders curved towards Ronan, Ronan scrunched up against the side of the mattress, his hand clinging to Adam’s sheets. 

It was almost embarrassing how he still curled so quickly into Adam, even while asleep. 

What actually was embarrassing, was the fact that he’d fucked up so phenomenally yesterday. 

Really, it had been a series of fucks ups, a domino effect of fuck ups, starting off small and ending up catastrophic. Yesterday, his mother’s anniversary, Declan had called him to invite Ronan to visit the graveyard with him and Matthew. Ronan, having somewhat lost track of time and dates, had felt sideswiped with the reminder of shit. Declan, taking Ronan’s hesitation for disinterest, had carefully reminded Ronan that Ronan had missed three of these anniversary’s already, and wouldn’t it be so nice? If he came? 

Ronan had sworn, had told Declan to fuck off. Had hung up. Had felt like a dick. Hadn’t cried. 

There had been quite a large amount of smallish fuck ups after that, mostly comprising of him working himself up into an emotion he couldn’t bear, an ache that felt like it was being ripped out of him, had ended up in town somewhere. Spending money. Drinking shit. His brain on repeat about how he was a selfish, pathetic, asshole, on and on and on and on. His brain on repeat suggesting that Aurora was lucky to be dead before she had to see him like this, that she would be so disappointed in him, etc, etc, etc. 

Before, and occasionally still, when substances just weren’t cutting it to cut out the unwanted narration happening inside his head, it had been an easy fix to go find someone else. Being touched, rough and intimate, almost always guaranteed his brain to shut the fuck. Like being doused in cold water, or being put on anesthesia. But God. He hadn’t wanted to last night. Nearly every time he’d tried it since being  _ better _ , since being as clean as he could manage (no to all drugs except for alcohol and supposed to be no to alcohol too, but he never pretended to be a saint), since he remembered how he didn’t want to  _ hurt _ the people he cared about it was fucking difficult to get fucked and not feel even worse immediately after. 

It was like he was going to get a fucking cure for something, and while the cure was being administrated he developed an extra couple of fatal conditions, and then, once it was done, felt like he’d rather be dead than live with his new ailments. 

The biggest mistake of yesterday, had, of course, been to let his very drunk brain interpret Adam’s text, had been to go to Adam and ask of him the one thing he knew would fuck him up worse right now. Part of it had been logical. The sex with other people right now was horrible and shitty because they reminded him of things he didn’t want to be reminded of. Because for eighteen years of his life he hadn’t been planning on having sex with anyone but the guy he truly fucking loved, and yet -    
Because Adam was the only guy he’d ever truly loved, and therefore shouldn’t sex with him not be anything but fantastic? Shouldn’t it be the best sex? Shouldn’t it be the only person he could have sex with who wouldn’t make him feel dirty, and disgusting afterwards?    
  
It had been illogical, because he knew already that he couldn’t have with Adam what he’d had with so many others. He didn’t want to be fucked by Adam - well, correction; he did want to be fucked by Adam, but only if it was part of a bundle including love declarations, and hands held, and living together forever, and all that fucking shit. Which. Ronan was pretty sure nobody was ever going to look at him now and consider him someone they want to spend the rest of their lives with, and definitely not Adam with all his ambitions in life, and his clean flat, and his need for at least a base level of stability. 

“Ronan,” Adam said, awake then. “How’s your head?” 

It would be better if he’d been smart enough to get out of bed while Adam was still possibly asleep, so he wouldn’t have to face up to the disappointment and the embarrassment of it all. 

“Not too bad,” Ronan grunted. Adam’s hand was still on his chest. 

“Good,” Adam said, yawned, pressed his forehead against Ronan’s nape, pulled his arm away as he stretched. “I don’t have class until noon, so, do you want some breakfast?” 

Ronan frowned into the pillow, tried to figure out where in Adam’s words were the barbs of annoyance at him, the tone that translated to anger and disappointment. 

“You’re not going to kick me out?” 

Adam paused. He’d lifted the blanket and shuffled around as if he was getting out of bed, but he dropped the blanket down again now and stayed where he was, his hip pressed against Ronan’s lower back. 

“No,” he said. Paused. It felt like Adam was looking at him, but Ronan was keeping his eyes shut and his head down. It was easier this way. “Eggs?” Adam asked, “I need to do some groceries, but I can make us some eggs and toast?” 

Ronan grunted a vague assent. Adam got out of bed. 

“Have a shower if you want,” he said, tugging the blanket back up so the small triangle exposing Ronan’s back to the chill air was covered up again. “You can probably figure out where everything is, just help yourself.” 

Ronan waited until Adam had left the room. Waited another few minutes. Opened his eyes and sat up. This morning wasn’t going how he had expected it to. He supposed there was still plenty of time for it to nosedive. His head was aching in a distant sort of way, and his stomach felt a little queasy, his limbs a little stiff. He should shower. 

-

Adam didn’t turn around when Ronan stepped out of his bedroom. He was whisking eggs at the counter, the morning sun falling on his shoulders. The t-shirt he was wearing looked familiar though Ronan was pretty sure he hadn’t seen Adam in it before. 

The bathroom was tiny, but it had a decent looking shower, and a nice mirror and vanity. There was a pale green towel over the rail opposite the shower, and a polka dot face cloth. He found more towels in the hamper style storage beside the sink, chose a pink one. 

It was near heavenly to be standing in the warmth of the shower, letting the water wash last night off of him, drinking some of it straight from the stream, the warmth of it soothing his raw throat. The water pressure wasn’t as good as it was at Gansey’s, but it was warm, and Adam’s body wash smelled like jasmine and something a bit minty. He used Adam’s face cloth. He probably should have grabbed another, but, but. 

He was very stubbly, definitely needed to shave. Dried off first, wrapped the towel around his waist, hunched over and looked in the vanity cupboards until he found an electric razor. 

-

“Adam,” he said. The room smelled warm, like toast an coffee. 

Adam, who’d thrown a loose knit jumper on over his shirt, glanced around at him, continued to stir the scrambled eggs. “Yeah?” 

“After breakfast,” Ronan said, held up the razor in his hand. “Would you shave my head for me?” 

Adam looked at him for a long moment, his eyes tracking down Ronan’s bare chest, up again and sticking on his wet curls. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Borrow some of my clothes and come eat.” 

Ronan did as he was told. 

Adam had put on a little bit of weight since he was a teenager. Just enough that his skin wasn’t stretched like canvas over his bones, enough that his muscles had a place to sit. Most of his clothes were a little too small for Ronan, long enough but too skinny by far. He picked out a pair of loose pants, not quite sweat pants, oddly decorated, definitely a Blue gift. He paired it with another somewhat familiar looking t-shirt, and went out to join Adam for breakfast. 

“That’s your shirt,” Adam told him, once he’d put a plate of buttered toast and eggs in front of Ronan and had sat down opposite him. “You’d left it at St Agnes before you left.” 

Ronan plucked at the t-shirt he was wearing, the familiarity poking through and recognising him. “Oh,” he said. “And you kept it?” 

Adam shrugged, picked up the coffee pot. “Coffee?” 

Ronan nodded. “What about the one you’re wearing?” 

“Hm?” Adam asked, poured Ronan a coffee, pushed it across the table towards him, began to pour himself one. 

“The shirt you’re wearing,” Ronan clarified, taking the coffee and grasping it gratefully in both hands. “Is it mine?” 

“Yes,” Adam said to the table, then to his coffee; “You can have it back if you want.” 

“No,” Ronan said, took a quick sip of the scalding coffee. “Fuck off man, like I’m going to steal clothes back from you. It’s yours now.” 

Adam nodded. 

-

“How short do you want it?” Adam asked, half an hour later. He was dressed now, standing behind Ronan in the bathroom, holding the razor aloft. “Completely gone, or fuzzy?” 

“I want it like it was back then,” Ronan said to his reflection, his eyes darting between himself and his curls to Adam and his hand holding the razor. “I liked it like that.” 

“Hm,” Adam said, ran his fingers through the back of Ronan’s hair, catching gently at slight tangles. “Did you let it grow out just recently? Or have you been wearing it like this the whole time?” 

Ronan shrugged. “I cut it whenever I remembered,” he said, his gaze firmly stuck on Adam’s hand in his hair now. “I didn’t really think about it.” 

“Ok,” Adam said, turned the razor on. 

It was peaceful, just watching Adam slowly and methodically shave his head. Watching as drifts of his hair floated down around his face, a lone curl landing on the countertop, it’s blackness stark against the pale surface. Adam’s free hand was running along Ronan’s skull, his fingers feeling out the newly shaved stubble for length, or the to be shaved hair for knots, or just pressing gently against the base of his skull like he somehow knew it relieved Ronan’s headache just a little. 

By the time it was finished, Ronan was ready to just stay there under Adam’s hands forever. Adam’s hands removed themselves, however, after brushing Ronan’s head off, and then also removed the towel he’d draped over Ronan’s shoulders to keep the hair from sneaking into his clothes. 

In the mirror wasn’t the boy he’d been in Henrietta, but neither was it the man who’d rather rot than look back. He was someone new right now, in this minute. Adam in the mirror behind him caught his eye, smiled a little. 

Ronan remembered working so goddamned hard for any sort of smile from Adam. Remembered how good each one had felt. Was pleased as fucking piss that he didn’t have to work quite so hard this time, but they felt just as good. 

“Okay?” Adam asked, reached out again to brush an errant curl from Ronan’s neck. “I didn’t fuck it up?” 

“It’s good,” Ronan said, kept his eyes on Adam’s in the mirror. “Did I fuck it up?” 

Adam didn’t bother pretending like he didn’t follow, like he needed Ronan to expand on his question. He met Ronan’s eyes in the mirror again, left his hand where it was, knuckles against the side of Ronan’s neck, thumb on his shoulder. 

“You didn’t fuck it up,” Adam told him, told him, not his reflection. “You didn’t.” 

Sometimes Ronan really fucking wanted to fuck it up. Because it felt like he was going to fuck it up eventually so he may as well do it now and get it over with. Instead he closed his eyes. Imagined turning around and pressing himself into Adam’s arms again. 

“Ronan,” Adam said, his hand lifting and brushing against Ronan’s jaw, his cheek. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

He wished Adam hadn’t grown up so sensible. He didn’t want to talk about it, because talking about shit while he wasn’t buzzed was difficult and painful, and often times quite fucking gross. He shook his head, eyes still closed. 

“I kind of need to talk about it,” Adam said then, sounded regretful. “Just - I don’t - You said some things last night, and I -” He paused, like he wasn’t sure how to word the fact that Ronan had fucking asked him to fuck him mindless, last night, that Ronan had shown him just how fucked up and horrible he really was. 

Ronan swallowed. Nodded. 

“Let’s not do this in the bathroom,” Adam said. His hand was still on Ronan’s cheek. “Makes me claustrophobic.” 

They went to the main room, Adam perching on the arm of his little couch, Ronan hovering by the door. He wasn’t planning on running, on escaping from this horrible little talk that was about to happen, but it calmed him down a little bit to know that he wasn’t caged in. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Adam said, first to his socked feet, and then to Ronan’s knees, “But I - I do need to say it.” 

Ronan nodded. Kit had impressed upon him in their last session, that he needed to listen to what other people had to say, and not to just listen to his own voice, which was apparently mean and a little spiteful to himself. He didn’t think this was going to be mean or spiteful, but he definitely didn’t think it was going to be a delight to hear. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” Adam said. “When your ma died. I wanted to - fuck, Ronan - I wanted so bad to go to you and just - I don’t know. Do my best to comfort you. I didn’t, because I felt so - so awkward about - I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. That I’d be the last person you’d want to see. I’ve regretted it so much, these last few years. So. I’m sorry, I should have been a better friend to you, then.” 

Ronan stared. This wasn’t what he had been anticipating, not by a long shot. 

“What the fuck?” he said. “You’re - jeez, Parrish. I wasn’t - God,  _ I _ might have been hung up on it, but it was never really about you - I just - fuck, man -” 

“Lynch,” Adam cut in, rubbed his temple with one finger, “I know it sounds stupid, or whatever, but please. Let me just - please just accept my apology.” 

Ronan stared a little more, pursed his lips, sighed. “I fucking accept your apology,” he said, then, “tell me you haven’t been fucking beating yourself up about this.” 

Adam shrugged. His cheeks were a little pink, which was good, because it wouldn’t be fair if Ronan was the only one a little embarrassed and awkward about talking about this. 

“Stop me if you’ve heard this one,” Adam said to his hands, clasping them in his lap, “but I - for a good long while - I kept thinking; if I’d just - if I’d just gone to see you. Talked to you. Fucking - fucking hugged you. You wouldn’t have gone.” He laughed, just one sharp self deprecating laugh. “I know. Self-centred.” 

Ronan crossed the rug between them, sat beside the arm of the couch, beside Adam. Elbowed him in the side gently. 

“I don’t think it would have helped,” he said honestly. “I fucking wish it would’ve. But. I was gone, Parrish. I don’t know if even you could have reached me at that point.” 

Adam looked down at him, brow furrowed. Ronan wanted to reach out and press his fingers to the dip between his brows. Wanted to reach out and take Adam’s hands in his. Wanted to tell him that he had been beyond help then, but he wasn’t anymore. 

“I think that’s comforting,” Adam said, smiled again at Ronan. 

“So,” Ronan said, jumping straight back to uncomfortable. “You didn’t need to, uh, to bring up the whole thing about me asking you to fuck me?” 

Adam’s eyebrows rose straight up, and he didn’t reply for a long moment, and then he snorted, lifted his hands to run through his hair. 

“Do you want me to bring it up?” he asked, hands still in his hair. 

“No,” Ronan said, mostly truthful. “No I don’t. I don’t want to even think about it.” 

“I’m not going to make you talk about it,” Adam said, dropped his hands back down heavily. “I know you didn’t… didn’t mean it.” 

“Well,” Ronan said. He did mean it. He did mean it. He didn’t mean it like that, but he did mean it, fucking hell, he still meant it. “I’m sorry anyway.” 

“You don’t need to be,” Adam said. 

“Christ, man,” Ronan sighed, “you don’t need to fucking dance around my feelings. I know what I did last night was shitty, and - and - and pushing a fucking thousand boundaries. God, I don’t even know why you let me stay last night, or this morning. I don’t -” 

“Ronan,” Adam said, poked Ronan in the cheek. “I didn’t kick you out because you didn’t make me feel - I wasn’t scared, or - or uncomfortable being around you. You didn’t make me dislike you. You didn’t push any boundary enough to break it. I let you stay because I wanted you around.” 

Ronan exhaled, could still feel the press of Adam’s finger against his cheek, against his gum. 

He wanted Adam to say it again. 

“Are you going to tell Gansey on me?” 

Adam snorted. “You’re not a child,” he said, “and I’m not your parent. It’s up to you whether you want to tell Gansey or not. All I can do is - is let you know that I care. Okay? Gansey’s not the only one who’s worried about you. Who wants the best for you. Who wants you close.” 

Ronan closed his eyes. That was close enough to him saying it again. He grinned, wide and stupid. “No,” he said, “I know. There’s Blue, too.” 

“Asshole,” Adam said, shoved him lightly, laughed. 

-

  
  


“Ronan!” Gansey gasped when Ronan walked into the kitchen at half past twelve. “God alive, I wish you’d answer your texts!” 

“My phone died,” Ronan said, looked Gansey over to check he’d at least slept a little. Adam had told him he’d texted Gansey last night to let him know Ronan was safe, so hopefully Gansey wouldn’t have spent all night worrying. “But. I’m sorry, man.” 

Gansey sighed. He’d been in the process of making a sandwich, but he abandoned it all as he strode across the kitchen to tug Ronan into a tight hug. 

“You’re such an asshole,” he gritted out into Ronan’s shoulder. “But I’m very glad to see you alive and well, and -” he pulled back to hold Ronan at arm’s length. “With a haircut?” 

“Mm,” Ronan shrugged. “Adam shaved it for me this morning.” 

Gansey eyed him up, squeezed his arms, released him, and then stepped back over to his sandwich. “What happened?” 

“Uh,” Ronan leaned against the counter. “Well, we got the razor out of the razor box, and plugged it in, and -” 

Gansey turned around to give him  _ the look _ , so Ronan desisted. 

“I fucked up,” he said instead. “I went out and drank. I was stupid drunk. I felt like shit. I didn’t want you to see me like that again. I went to Adam’s, he put me to bed. That’s about it.” 

Gansey nodded at his sandwich, ate a whole pickle. 

“I don’t know how to stop, Gans,” Ronan admitted, ignoring the crunching of pickle. “I don’t - I keep telling myself I’m never gonna - I’m never gonna drink again. And then I get fucking upset and I don’t even consider not drinking.” 

Gansey turned around. 

“And it’s fucking scary,” Ronan continued, dropping his gaze to the floor instead of meeting Gansey’s eyes. “Because, what if I get really upset, and then I’m just doing drugs again? What if something shitty happens and then I shoot up? I feel like I have no control.” 

Gansey bit his lip, shook his head. “I don’t know, Ro,” he said, soft. “I don’t know what to do either. But we’ll work through this together. I’m not gonna leave you to do this by yourself. None of us are.” 

Ronan cleared his throat, blinked at the floor. 

“And I know it’s shitty for you,” Gansey said, slow. He’d been reading a lot of books about addiction lately, and Ronan was pretty sure he was trying to remember vital information right now. It was somewhat comforting. “But you need to know, that even if you relapse? We’re not going to give up. You’re not a wasted cause. I’m going to be here for as long as you let me, and probably a little bit after that too.” 

Ronan nodded.

“Have you, uh,” Gansey said, “considered going to AA meetings?” 

Ronan groaned. 

“I think it might be worth a shot,” Gansey added, shrugged. Stepped forwards to squeeze Ronan’s arm again, to pull him over to the counter. “Come make a sandwich. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😇😇😇

It was, Adam decided while attempting to pay attention to his lecture, excessively unfair of life to have reminded him of what it was like to sleep in such close quarters with Ronan. It might sound stupid, but it meant far too much.    
  
All of his childhood he had spent alone - the few years as a baby and toddler he spent with his parents in their bed was nothing but smokey memories, for which he was grateful. He had slept alone, in his tiny tin room, night after night, after night. Never slept over at a friend’s, because, you had to have friends to do that, or at least, friends who stayed your friend after seeing you bruised and battered the next day at school. He hadn’t even had a friend  _ over _ until he started going to Aglionby, and even then it was never by choice, and never for long, so - 

So Ronan coming over and making himself at home in Adam’s tiny St Agnes flat that belonged to  _ him _ had been odd, but also so fucking nice. It was a strange little piece of intimacy that he hadn’t quite realised he had been missing, something he didn’t realise he liked so much until he spent hours inside his own brain analysing the warmth in his chest. 

Ronan sleeping over was even  _ more _ . Ronan showing that he trusted Adam, showing that he felt he could sleep safely. Maybe that wasn’t such a big concern to others as it was to Adam, but still. It felt big to him. Ronan sleeping over had always made him feel weirdly more in control of himself, independent. Had made him feel warm, and cared for, even if Ronan turned up in a foul mood and barely said two words to him. Helped him sleep sounder, being able to hear the breath of someone else nearby, someone else who he could trust. 

They’d shared a bed only once back in Henrietta - Ronan usually opting for the floor by Adam’s mattress - but the memory was firmly etched in Adam’s mind. It had been a cold night, not rare in Adam’s apartment, and Ronan had arrived late into the night, near the morning really, had brought in hail with him. Adam hadn’t been sleeping - too cold to sleep - so the disruption wasn’t a nuisance, gave him something to focus on. Something to focus on being how cold Ronan’s skin was from stalking around town in only his stupid leather jacket, like that could keep him warm against the wind, and the hail, and the barreness of this town. Adam had told him to get into bed with him before he’d even thought about it. Had sat there amongst his thin blankets and watched Ronan strip off his leather jacket, his boots, turn off the light. Had sworn at Ronan when Ronan pressed his cold limbs to Adam’s luke warm ones. 

Had put his arms around Ronan while very carefully acting grumpy about it. Had fallen asleep there, once their skin had warmed evenly. Had woken up in Ronan’s arms instead, warm, warm, warm. 

  
  


It had been different the night before, sleeping with Ronan. There was no facade of coldness to cover their touching. Ronan had asked for it outright, and Adam had given it willingly. He knew he was the one supposed to be giving the comfort, but he had been comforted too. Ronan had changed so much since he’d been gone. He’d grown taller, his shoulders broader, his everything skinnier. He’d put on some muscle and weight since he’d been back. But not enough yet, and it was easy to tell when pressed up against him. But still - he had felt the same in Adam’s arms; as if they fell asleep like that every night, that feeling of  Déjà vu , almost. 

He wanted it again. 

-

Blue called him that evening, while he slumped around the supermarket trying to remember what he’d written on his shopping list that he’d stupidly left stuck to his fridge. He stationed himself in between stands of bread to take the call. 

“Blue,” he said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Alright, fancy boy,” Blue snorted, “take off your manners.” 

“What’s up?” 

“That’s more like it,” she said, laughed. “I can’t call to just say hi?” 

“I mean,” Adam switched hands on his phone so he could reach a loaf of bread to chuck into his basket. “You  _ can _ , but you usually just turn up at my place to say hi.” 

“True,” Blue said, slurped something, not bothering to move her mouth away from the receiver. “How are you?” 

“Feeling like I need to get my ear canal cleaned out,” Adam teased. “What the hell are you eating right in my ear?” 

“Uh,” Blue drawled, “yogurt? How are you?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Just fine?”

“Sure,” Adam said, then sighed. “You’re asking because of Ronan, yeah?” 

“I’m asking because Ronan turned up at yours drunk as a skunk last night, yes,” Blue confirmed. 

“And you drew the short straw to do Adam trouble shooting?” 

“No,” Blue said, slurped again. “I drew the long straw. No, dumbass. I don’t do trouble shooting. I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay, y’know?” 

“I’m doing okay,” Adam said, sighed again. “I mean… it’s… it’s obviously so much harder for Ronan, but - but it’s hard. Seeing him like that.” 

“You don’t need to qualify your feelings against Lynch,” Blue said, “You have separate emotions, you don’t need to compete with them.” 

The separate bit was part of the problem, really. 

“I wanna be there for him,” Adam said, “but I - I feel like he doesn’t need me.” 

“Uh,” Blue said, “c’mon now, big head, people don’t need to  _ need _ you to -” 

“Wait, no,” Adam cut in, sighed again, heavier. “I don’t mean like that - I mean - I know he doesn’t  _ need _ me, I don’t want him to have to need me. I mean that I don’t think it’s useful to him. Having me in his life.” 

“Don’t be a stupid snot,” Blue said. “You don’t think your friendship is useful to him? I’m calling Harvard right now, Mr Adam fucking Parrish, and telling them that they need to revoke your smart person scholarship because you lost your smarts.” 

“Okay, okay,” Adam said, rolled his eyes, smiled as well. “I don’t know, Blue. I think I feel lost is all.” 

“Your GPS will kick in soon,” Blue said, “but until then, it’s okay not to be able to do everything. You don’t have to be this amazing multi-tasking robot of help for Ronan. It’s enough that you exist, I think.” 

“Okay,” Adam said. “Okay. How are you?” 

“Now you ask!” 

-

Gideon had texted him on Friday morning, asking if Adam could do a quick tarot reading for him before he asked out some clever woman he’d been mooning about in his Chem lab for months, and so Adam found himself at lunch time, sitting at one of the tables in the upstairs level of the uni library, laying out a spread in front of Gideon. 

At least twelve people were watching from the sidelines, which was a little disconcerting and off putting, but Adam had done this with worse watching over his shoulders. 

“Do I have to think about the question the entire time you’re spreading?” Gideon asked, his fingers fiddling with one frayed edge of the card closest to him. 

Adam slapped his hand away from the card, raised his eyebrows at Gideon. 

“I think that depends on whether or not your question is nebulous,” he said, also somewhat nebulous.

The spread he’d done wasn’t a complicated one, it wasn’t a complicated question, so. The reading went quickly, he’d never been one for the flair of adding on unnecessary filagree to his translations. Read it, see the meaning, say the meaning, move on. He tried to be to the point with most things, as useful as possible for most things. 

The answer was that Jemimah for lab was almost certainly dating Courtney from lab, and that it would probably have been easier and quicker to just ask around if anyone knew if Jemimah was dating anyone. 

“But I didn’t really wanna know if she was available!” Gideon groaned, slumping ont he table as Adam gathered back up his cards. “I wanted to know if I had a  _ chance _ .” 

“That wasn’t the question you asked, though,” Adam pointed out,, “and I don’t condone chasing after someone in a relationship, just so you know.” 

“I know,” Gideon moaned. “I wouldn’t  _ chase _ , I’d just… linger.” 

“That might be worse,” Adam snorted, began shuffling the cards, enjoying the feeling of them in his hands. 

He hadn’t done a card reading for a while, not since Ronan had gotten back. He’d done them infrequently before that, but often enough that his friends knew they could ask for a reading, that his hands never felt clumsy handling the cards. 

They’d only felt clumsy for a few seconds while he’d been laying the cards, had warmed up quick enough with the reading. It felt almost a pity to just put them back in their little velvet bag now, while they were still warm and tingly in his fingers. 

“Maybe you could do another reading?” Gideon suggested, propping his chin up on his hands. “Ask the spirits that be if I have a chance in the future?” 

“I think your questions are going to get all muddled up,” Adam said, kept shuffling. “And no, I’m not going to be party to anymore of this.” 

“Do you ever do readings for yourself?” Marissa asked. 

She’d been standing by the table watching for the whole event. Adam had known her for about a year now, they’d met while studying, but he didn’t think he’d ever told her about his card readings. People often reacted with… distaste, so it was nice that she seemed genuinely interested. 

“Yeah,” he said, let the cards still in his palm. “I haven’t for a while, but I’d sometimes do them on days of big events, y’know?” 

“Isn’t every day a big event?” Marissa said, grinned at him. “What if you’re missing out on some golden piece of luck because you haven’t asked your cards about it?” 

Adam shook his head. “I don’t really think it works like that. If I’m going to come into good fortune, I’ll come into it whether or not I know about it.” 

“What’s the point of asking, then?” Gideon asked. 

“The point,” Marissa answered instead, elbowing Gideon lightly in the head, “is not to ask boring questions. I’m not saying you should like, ask your cards if you’re going to have a good day, I’m asking if you ask your cards if you should be  _ bold _ for the day, or if you need to stay more in the shadows. Less a way to predict what’s going to happen, and more a way to help you drive safer.” 

Marissa had a good point. That was, generally, the way Adam thought about his readings, and it was interesting to hear someone else put it out in words. 

“Do you do readings?” He asked her. 

She shook her head, “Nah,” she grinned, “I’m just interested. I don’t have the knack.” 

“Do a reading for yourself, then,” Gideon said, grinned as well. “I’m interested now. What’s going on for Adam Parrish today?” 

“I’d prefer to stay a mystery, I think,” Adam said, even though his cards still weighed comfortingly in his hand. 

“An enigma,” Marissa said, “is made to be puzzled out.” 

Adam frowned, but his ego had been persuaded enough. He switched the cards between his hands lightly, shrugged. 

“Okay,” he said, “and I can tell you right now which card I’ll pull first.” 

“Oh?” Marissa pulled out a chair beside Gideon, sat down. “Is this a card trick now too?” 

“No,” Adam said, but flicked one card out of the deck to hold away from him with a flourish anyway. “The magician.” 

Gideon clapped sarcastically, Adam mimed a little bow. 

“I always draw it,” he said, flipping it over so he could look at it as well, “I guess it’s my card.” 

“Cute,” Marissa said. 

The next card was a bit of a surprise, or, well, not really. He’d pulled it out upside down, his thumb over the title. 

“The three of swords,” he said, lay it down next to the Magician on the table. 

“What does that mean?” Gideon asked, looked very much like he wanted to lean forwards and poke it. 

Adam pursed his lips. “Recovery,” he said. “Forgiveness. Moving on.” 

“Ooh,” Gideon looked suitably impressed, “so are you forgiving someone, or are they forgiving you?” 

Adam pulled the next card, frowned at it. Lay it down next to the first two. 

“The Lovers?” Marissa asked, one eyebrow quirked at Adam in questioning. 

“Well,” Gideon said, “that one doesn’t need explaining!” 

“Hm,” Marissa ran one carefully manicured finger of the top of the card, “moving on and The Lovers? Is it about Kel, you think?” 

Adam would prefer not to answer this. He cleared his throat noncommittally, pulled out his next card from the pack. 

It was The Lovers again. He looked at it in surprise, and then down at the table where he’d placed it already. It wasn’t there, of course, it was in his hand. He put it down again. 

“Um,” Gideon said. 

Adam tried to draw again. The Lovers. He glared at it. Handed it across the table to Gideon to hold. Drew another card. 

The Lovers. Gideon held his hands up in confusion, empty. 

“Um,” Gideon said again, “is this like, a really cool card trick?” 

“It’s not very cool,” Adam said, picked up his other two cards, shuffled the pack thoroughly, The Lovers somewhere in the mix, drew a card at random. The Lovers. “Not cool at all.” 

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Marissa chipped in, “I think your cards are definitely trying to tell you something, don’t you?” 

Shuffle. Pick a card. The Lovers. 

“Yeah,” Adam said. Nodded. “I - I’ve gotta go. I have class.” 

-

Ronan texted him too quickly after Adam had left the library for his heart  _ not _ to try leaping out of his mouth, and he had to take a quick breathing break in the bathroom before even thinking about going to class. Ronan’s text was nothing to do with The Lovers, The Lovers, The Lovers, The Lovers, The - 

It was; 

Friday

1:47PM

From - Ronan

_ -come 4 dinner. _

To - Ronan

_ ~tonight? _

From - Ronan

_ -nah i was thinkin at 2 in the fcking morning. yes 2night  _

To - Ronan

_ ~i have angels tonight, i won’t have much time.  _

From - Ronan

_ -com 4 early dinner then i dnt care. _

To - Ronan

_ ~ok. i’ll be there at 6? _

From - Ronan

_ -whoopdedoo _

Definitely nothing to do with The Lovers, The Lovers, The Lovers, The Lo-

  
  


-

“Hey, tiger!” Gansey greeted him that evening as he opened the door to Adam. “Good to see you!” 

There was no easy way to tell Gansey that that greeting was just...wack. 

“Hey man,” Adam said, bumped fists with Gansey, then let him pull him into a half hug. “How’re you?” 

“All the better for seeing you!” Gansey beamed, took him by the arm as if they were going to go for a light stroll around the pond. “Ronan’s cooking, and he’s making lasagne, and his lasagne has always been to die for, so we’re all in luck tonight!” 

“All in luck except poor Henry!” Henry bemoaned from deep amongst the cushions on the couch as they entered the lounge. “Of course Ronan would pick the week that I’m a vegan to make something with meat and cheese.” 

“He did say he was going to do roast zucchini and a falafel salad,” Gansey pointed out, patting Henry kindly on the head, not even slightly mussing up his carefully spiked hair. “You won’t starve.” 

“I won’t,” Henry agreed, “but I will suffer. Howdy, Parrish, you’re looking luscious.” 

“Uh,” Adam said, glanced down at his jeans and jumper outfit, “yeah, you’re looking like a real feast too, Cheng. Am I doing it right?” 

“Oh yes,” Henry said, swung (struggled) his way around so he was properly upright and facing Adam. “Do tell me more about how I look like I would be delicious to eat, and say it loudly.” 

“Stop being a fucking creep, Cheng!” Ronan roared from the kitchen, “Else I’ll spike your fucking zucchini with butter!” 

“What a menace,” Henry said with a grin, shuffled over a little and patted the couch beside him. Adam sat down next to him. 

“Want a drink?” Gansey asked. Henry had a beer glass full of what looked like orange juice. “We have a multitude of juices, so whatever you feel like, I’m sure we have.” 

“Water will be fine,” Adam said, knocked fists with Henry as well. “Does Ronan need help in the kitchen?” 

Blue answered this, striding into the lounge with a glass of some pink juice in hand. “Ronan does not need help,” she said, “in fact he just told me to get out of the kitchen because genius works alone.” 

“I said that you’re short and you keep stirring shit weird!” Ronan called out in correction. 

Gansey shrugged, made to move as if he was off to go fetch Adam his unneeded glass of water. 

“Oh,” Adam said, held his hand out to stop him. “I’ll get my water. Say hi to Ronan too.” 

Gansey nodded, sat down half on Blue in the armchair she’d sat in. 

Adam bumped knuckles with her too as he walked past. Vaguely wondered if eventually fist bumps would be the new handshake, and only business people would do it. 

-

Ronan was wearing an apron and a scowl, and he only glared at Adam when Adam walked in, closing the door to the hallway behind him. 

“I’m not here to stir,” Adam said, leaned against a counter, “so cool it.” 

“I actually do cook better while alone,” Ronan replied pointedly. 

“So pretend I’m not here,” Adam suggested, fiddled with the drawer handle to his left, “I just wanted to see a genius at work.” 

“Her words,” Ronan said, turned back to the stove, “not mine.” 

“Have you ever had a reading?” Adam asked, pushed himself away from the counter and turned around to open the glasses cabinet. 

“Uh,” Ronan said, “I read, sure.” 

“A tarot card reading,” Adam clarified, though he was reasonably certain Ronan had understood the first time. 

“I’m not big on fortune telling,” Ronan said, “I already know my fortune. Big on the gold, low on the luck.” 

“I guess I don’t really think of them as fortune telling, or even future telling,” Adam said, ran his finger around the rim of the glass he’d grabbed until it made a squeaking noise that surprised him enough he almost dropped it. 

“What the hell is it, then?” Ronan grunted, glancing over his shoulder at the squeak as well. 

Adam shut the cupboard, stepped towards the tap. “A guide,” he suggested. “A translation of events. A nudge.” 

“Hm.” 

Adam poured himself some water, took a sip, leaned against the counter again, this time beside Ronan. Ronan glanced at him, then away again. 

“I’d read for you,” Adam said, “if you wanted.” 

“Why would you want to?” Ronan shot back, didn’t look up from his cooking. 

Adam shrugged. “I spent so much time scrying for you,” he said, slow, careful, “but I never - I never did readings about you. It felt too personal.” 

“But searching some weird magical scape wasn’t?” 

“No,” Adam put down his glass even though it was still half full. “That was more like - more like pushing through a crowd in the dark, without glasses, trying to find you. Occasionally grabbing someone else’s hand by mistake.” 

“Awkward.” 

Adam laughed, wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly cold, though maybe it had just been a momentary shiver. He could almost feel Ronan’s heat, radiating off of him. Maybe his proximity to warmth simply made him feel cold in contrast. 

“It was like that when I found you, too,” Adam said, quiet. “In a crowd, in the dark, no glasses. But this time I grabbed your hand. I always wondered - I know it’s - uh - more metaphysical really, but - I always wondered if you felt it. And not just then,” he added, suddenly remembering the slew of questions he’d pondered over on so many late nights. “But every time I found you, everytime I reached out to you.” 

Ronan turned the stove off, turned his body half towards Adam, his face caught between a frown and thoughtfulness. 

“You found me more than once?” 

“Well,” Adam cleared his throat, gripped at his upper arms tighter. “Found is too loose a word. I  _ found _ you, but I didn’t find you. I could find your presence in the crowd, but I couldn’t find your location.” 

“Mirror maze,” Ronan supplied, face odd. “Did you grab my hand every time?” 

“More like your sleeve,” Adam said, “or your heat.” 

“My heat?” 

Adam shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s… clunky trying to put any of this into words.” 

“Okay,” Ronan said, snorted, “I get it, I’m just a layman, I wouldn’t know anything of this.” 

“Shove off,” Adam said, snorted as well, then, reached out to lay his hand against Ronan’s shoulder, his heat bleeding into Adam’s palm, soaking his fingers. “But. Like. Did you? Feel me?” 

Ronan’s eyes were odd, flickin about as if he was cornered and looking for an escape, but his body was still and relaxed under Adam’s hand. 

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Adam, I - the other night.” 

Adam waited, rubbed his thumb against the soft fabric of Ronan’s hoodie. 

“I told you about how - well. I didn’t really tell you shit, too drunk to make much sense, I guess, but. I said I was thinking about you, the night you found me.” 

Adam nodded, kept his eyes on Ronan’s face, on his downturned lashes. 

“I tried not to think about you,” Ronan continued, voice low. “I tried not to think about any of you. It… it hurt too much. But I thought about you and then - I saw this - I saw this guy, at the bar.” 

Ronan paused to clear his throat, to shuffle his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, moving nearly imperceptibly closer to Adam. 

“He looked like you,” Ronan said, shrugged, “he looked like you, but not like you. Like seeing you through fogged up glass. Or underwater. But he had - he was all the right colours, y’know? And I saw him across the room, or he saw me, or something, and we - we made eye contact, and I -” 

Ronan broke off to heave a frustrated breath, to lift his hand jerkily up to touch first at Adam’s wrist, and then to slide down and catch at Adam’s elbow, curling his warm fingers around his arm. 

“I was - so out of it,” Ronan said, adding a noise of deprecation, or disgust. “I don’t even remember what I’d taken. But I remember walking towards him, because he looked like you, I remember him reaching out. Taking my hand. I remember - I - I don’t remember anything else until I was dragged out of there by one of Declan’s goons.” 

Adam stared. 

“It could have been your hand I held,” Ronan said, “ _ meta-fucking-physically _ , of course. But - it could have been. Or it could have just been a coincidence.”

The both of them had spent their high school years listening to Gansey say that he didn’t believe in coincidences. He’d said it enough that by the time Adam had left Henrietta, neither did he. 

Adam wanted to cry. Or. He didn’t really  _ want _ to cry, but his body still felt bursting with some sort of emotion. Some sort of need. He blinked hard, and then Ronan’s hand was on his face, still so warm, his thumb brushing just under Adam’s eye. 

“I’ll take you up on your reading offer,” Ronan said. “Not tonight, not here. But - you probably want to get to put them together, don’t you? Nerd. The scrying and the reading?” 

“The scrying, the reading,” Adam agreed, “and the real breathing person.” 

“Not tonight,” Ronan said again. “Tonight I have to serve zucchini.” 

“You like zucchini.” 

“Sure,” Ronan shrugged, “but I don’t tell Cheng that.” 


	12. Chapter 12

Adam hadn’t started with The Angels until earlier this year. He had been interested in volunteering with them from the first month he’d arrived at Harvard, had seen them at a stall at a clubs day event. 

There was no way in hell he could have joined back then. He was too overloaded. He only had enough time and income to scrape through his weeks, and he definitely didn’t have the mental fortitude back then. He had been a mess, emotionally, there was no way to deny it. It had been just long enough that he’d lost hope of Ronan coming back of his own accord any time soon. Just long enough that the scrying had become harder, Ronan’s being difficult to find. Just long enough that he felt scabbed over, but freshly scabbed, like it’d take only a small nudge for him to bleed again. 

Then, of course, there was the fact that being around alcohol in any type of excess still made him uneasy. He was fine going to small parties, so long as he knew at least a few of the people there. So long as the party goers didn’t turn violent. He’d gone into town just the once in his first year of university, firmly and vaguely safely wedged between Gansey and Blue. It had been chaotic, and uncomfortable, and he’d had his first panic attack in public. Luckily Gansey was a master at talking people down from them, luckily Blue was good at distracting him. Lucky they hadn’t been too far from Adam’s so he could get home easy and go to bed. 

It had taken a lot of time, and work, and therapy before he had felt stable - safe - enough to go into town again. He still hadn’t enjoyed it, but he’d felt okay about it. Had felt sane throughout his time out. Could never really feel entirely safe when there were people with very little control of themselves all around him. When the room he was in smelled like freshly spilled alcohol. When any man around him raised their voice louder than the general clamour of the room. 

But. He had worked hard to build a barrier around himself, to get himself to the point where he could walk through the mess of Friday and Saturday nights in town - not part of the mess, never - and fee like he was still in control. When he’d first joined The Angels, he’d requested to always be placed with a partner, somewhere not too busy. It got better with immersion, with time, and he had gotten a lot better at blocking out any memories his nights patrolling brought up. 

It was mostly pretty fine, almost fun. He spent his Friday nights offering people water and rides, making sure they ate something, making sure they felt safe. People generally appreciated that, knew who The Angels were, left them alone unless they wanted help, or a free ride, or a lollypop. It was fine, Adam even mostly liked it. Liked knowing the statistics, how much safer town had become with the presence of the group of volunteers, how many fewer students were being admitted to ED with alcohol related grievances. 

So. 

It had been a long while since he’d felt so… so off while out on the streets. But. 

But he did. Feel off. 

He wasn’t even out alone, he had Anna here with him, talking to him right that moment about her art project she was working on. It wasn’t even a horribly busy night, no vomit so far. But. 

They’d walked past a club a block ago, walked past it just at the moment someone yelled. It wasn’t a particularly angry yell, was probably something simply joyful and drunk. But. 

It had somehow sliced Adam right to the quick. Surprising. Like brushing your hand over a book and finding you had a paper cut stinging and stinging, dripping blood onto your pages. 

He was wearing his glasses - they were technically reading glasses, but his vision had gotten to the point where it was easier wearing them just for general use (he really needed to go back to the optometrist)- but the street ahead of him still looked blurry. 

There was no reason for him to be so - so - so weak about this right now. He was fine. He was fine. He had always been fine doing this job, he would always be fine doing this job, he was fine - 

“Adam,” Anna said, her hand on his elbow, “Adam, hey, you’re hyperventilating -” 

He was. He hadn’t realised until it had been pointed out, but he was. Realising it didn’t help him stop, in fact he thought it made it worse, like now he knew his body felt like it couldn’t get air it panicked him even more and his breath got harsher. 

“Fuck,” Anna said, she was steering Adam over to the side of the pavement, leaning him against a bench. “Adam. Look at me. Look at me.” 

He did, with some effort. It was always difficult for him to really look at people when he felt like this. Easier to keep his eyes averted, his head down. 

“Okay, good,” Anna said, smiled at him, “Can you take a big breath in for me? Just the one, along with me now.” 

He did so, or, tried to do some. Took a few tries before he managed to take a breath that he could hold for long enough for it to actually reach his lungs. He breathed out on her word as well, then in, and out, until his lungs felt less like accordions. As soon as his breathing was under control, he felt nauseous, embarrassed, shut his eyes. 

“You need to get home,” Anna said, her voice gentle. “Lauren can take you. Do you need me to come home with you? Or Jay, maybe?” 

“No,” Adam shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. I’m just - I think I’m just tired.” 

Anna called Lauren. Adam could vaguely hear her talking on the phone, filling Lauren in, but it was just a muted buzz, really. He knew she didn’t believe he was fine. He knew he needed to straighten himself up, stop looking so fucking pathetic, so weak. Act like a man. 

Lauren and the van arrived, praise be, empty of sick students. 

“You look pale as the moon,” Lauren remarked when Anna opened the passenger side door. “Get in.” 

“Um,” Adam said, “Anna, I don’t wanna leave you on route without me - um -” 

“Lee’s coming to join me,” Anna assured him easily, “call a friend. Don’t go home and stay alone.” 

“I’m fine,” Adam tried, needed a hand into the van. 

-

He didn’t realise Lauren wasn’t taking him home until they pulled into the driveway and Adam blinked at the shiny cars parked on the street. 

“Lauren,” he said, voice cracking a little as his dry throat stuck to itself uncomfortably. “You know I don’t live here.” 

“I do,” Lauren said, “but I also know you won’t actually call a friend if I take you home. You’ll go and feel sick all by your lonesome, and then who knows what. Maybe you have measles and you’ll die. I’m not gonna be responsible for being the one who just abandoned you at your empty house.” 

“I don’t have the measles,” Adam groaned, “I have all my vaccinations. I’m  _ fine _ .” 

“Okay, I’m glad you’re fine,” Lauren smiled placatingly at him. “Go on inside.” 

“It’s late,” Adam tried, glancing at Gansey’s house and already knowing this tactic wouldn’t work, because the lights were all still on. “They might all be asleep. I don’t want to wake them up.” 

“So,” Lauren said, reached over and unbuckled Adam’s seatbelt. “Go knock gently, and if no one comes to answer it, come back here and I’ll take you home.” 

Adam sighed. 

“I’ll stay right where I am unless you go inside,” Lauren assured him. “Now hurry up, I have drunk students to ferry around.” 

Adam went. His legs felt a bit rubbery, which wasn’t useful for showing Lauren how fine he was, because he wobbled a little bit as he walked the short distance from car door to front door. 

Gansey opened the door before Adam had a chance to rap twice on the door. He had his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, but took it out to speak. 

“Adam!” He said, “Hello again!” 

Adam exhaled, hadn’t really had any time to prep how to say that, hey, he’d just probably had another panic attack and his co-workers didn’t want him to be alone right now, and could he come in? Unless you were going to bed, of course, or you didn’t want to deal with someone who might start hyperventilating on you, or - 

“Adam?” Gansey was saying, his face a little blurry. “Come in. Come in.” 

Adam let himself be led inside. The door clicked behind him. Let Gansey take him by the hand and lead him into the lounge to sit him down on an arm chair. 

“It was just too much,” Adam found himself saying, not really knowing when he’d even began saying, “too much.” 

“I know,” Gansey replied, his hands still in Adam’s, “it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe here.” 

Adam closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to keep acknowledging that Gansey’s face was still blurry right in front of him, so he only had to experience the world with four senses, focused on keeping his breathing slow and steady. 

By the time he opened his eyes again, Gansey had talked to him steadily enough that Adam felt grounded back into his body, that he felt a little more stable in his bones. Blue was perched beside him, holding his hand, something he had only vaguely been aware of until opening his eyes. Ronan was in the doorway, something he hadn’t been at all aware of. 

“Stay the night,” Gansey said to him, “we can make the couch up for you.” 

At this point there was no way Adam was going to be able to convince both himself and this lot to let him go home, so he nodded. 

“You two can go back to getting ready for bed,” Ronan said, still in the doorway. “I’ll set Parrish up.” 

Adam looked at his feet. Gansey looked at Adam. 

“Yeah,” Adam said, swallowed. “I’m sorry for keeping you up. Go to bed, I resign myself to Ronan’s tender care.” 

Blue laughed a little, placed a quick kiss to his forehead. 

-

First of all, Ronan made him a hot chocolate. Adam needed something warm and sweet, according to Ronan, and the only answer apparently, was hot chocolate made with extremely creamy milk and cinnamon. Gansey and Blue came through the kitchen to say goodnight to the both of them while Ronan was still making it, whisking it on the stove, and then it was just him and Ronan in the kitchen again. 

Neither of them spoke. Ronan focused on his whisking, Adam listening to the sound of the house, a little quieter now with most of the house lights turned off, with Gansey and Blue’s bedroom door closed, with the closeness of Ronan, with the dull muffled beat of his panic still pumping in his deaf ear. 

Ronan handed him a mug of hot chocolate, had one himself. Stood in front of Adam as they both drank. It wasn’t a full mug, which Adam was glad for. It had been made to be fortifying, not fulling. Ronan took his mug when he was finished, rinsed the two of them, spoke to the sink. 

“I can make the couch up for you,” he said, quiet against the rush of water, “or you can just share with me. My bed is plenty big enough.” 

Adam’s mind swam with his reading from this morning, The Lovers, The Lovers, The Lovers, with his bone aching exhaustion, with his craving for warmth. He nodded. 

-

He was lucky that Gansey always had spare toothbrushes, he wouldn’t have enjoyed sharing a bed with anyone after drinking a milk drink without brushing his teeth, and it was part of his routine, and routines - especially around sleep - were extra important to Adam when it came to keeping himself sane when he was feeling so off. So. He brushed his teeth. Changed into the same t-shirt and pair of pants Ronan had borrowed from him the other day - washed and dried and folded and sitting on a chair in Ronan’s room. Climbed into Ronan’s admittedly very large bed while Ronan cooed to Chainsaw. Shut his eyes.

Ronan got into bed, the mattress dipping, the blanket lifting. Settled next to Adam, his heat immediately washing over the bed, warming the chill blankets. His hand came to press against Adam’s back. 

“Don’t tell me my cooking did this,” Ronan said, his voice low and carefully jokey. “I’d never hear the end of it if I poisoned you.” 

Adam exhaled in an imitation of amusement, pressed back against Ronan’s hands until he could feel the whole shape of it against him. 

“Your reputation is safe today,” Adam said. 

Speaking made him feel a little nauseous again so he closed his mouth tightly. He didn’t want to joke right now. He felt so wound up tight, still. Like his every hyperventilated breath had coiled a string around his spine and it was either going to snap soon - spilling him everywhere - or keep him as stiff and uncomfortable in his own body as he was.

“You don’t have to talk,” Ronan said, as if Adam had told him about the nausea. “I can shut up and roll over and sleep if you want me to.” 

Adam rolled over, kept his eyes shut so the movement would roil his stomach. Ronan’s hand stayed mostly where it was, brushing over Adam’s arm, his ribs, landing against his chest.

He opened his eyes to squint up at Ronan, shadowy in the new darkness of the room. Ronan’s eyes were open too, already looking at Adam’s face, blinking slowly at Adam. 

Adam wondered how much he could get away with without needing to explain himself. Wondered if Ronan’s words only sounded all knowing -  _ omniscient _ \- or if he  _ was _ . 

He felt so goddamned stupid, stupid and small, for letting old fears creep in tonight, for sending him spiralling back here, needing to be the one looked after. Stupid for feeling relief at being back with Ronan, back in Ronan’s touch. 

Ronan’s hand had shifted from Adam’s chest. Had slowly trailed up his neck, over his jaw, brushed his thumb against Adam’s ear lobe. He wondered if Ronan remembered he was deaf in the ear. Wondered if Ronan knew Adam could only hear things muffled right now, his good ear pressed to the pillow. When he spoke, his voice sounded hollow in his head. 

“I know I said, earlier, that I hadn’t done a reading about you before,” Adam said, watched as Ronan blinked at him, but didn’t make to speak. “But I - I have done readings which involved the thought of you.” 

Ronan raised his eyebrows, kept his mouth shut. Adam closed his eyes a brief moment, carried on. 

“I have a - there’s a card that I’d almost always draw when it came to you. Not almost. Always.” 

Ronan just blinked at him. 

“The Three of Swords,” Adam said. 

“What does that mean?” Ronan asked, his voice barely there through the pillow. His hand was still cupping Adam’s face, curled around his ear. 

Adam closed his eyes, safer doing that now that he knew he’d be able to hear Ronan speak. He didn't want to tell Ronan what it meant. “Grief,” he said, “Suffering. Heartbreak.” 

Ronan rubbed his thumb against Adam’s temple, dragged it down the skin to his cheekbone. 

“Makes sense,” he said. 

“I did a reading this morning,” Adam whispered. “For myself. I drew your card.” 

“Oh?” 

“But reversed,” Adam continued. 

He didn’t know why he was even saying all of this right now. He felt like he was just spilling his contents. Like he was a bag of flour that had been dropped and was emptying out onto the kitchen floor. He could have waited until the morning, until he felt steady, until he didn't feel drunk on touch and warmth, and Ronan. 

“Tell me,” Ronan said gently, his thumb soothing on Adam’s face. “Tell me what the reverse is.” 

“Recovery,” Adam replied. “Forgiveness. Moving on.” 

“Hm,” Ronan said. “Is it still my card when it’s reversed?” 

“Yes,” Adam said, more a hiss than a whisper. “It’s you.” 

Ronan was quiet for a long while. His thumb still stroking Adam’s cheek, his breath lifting the blankets slightly in slow rhythm. It was too much. It was too much. 

Adam wondered if this _was_ like being drunk, a little, how dizzy he felt after a panic attack, how exhausted and loose tongued, and defensive he felt. Like a hedgehog plucked of all its quills. Stupid and incapable of anything but curling up around itself and hope.

“Are you asking me a question?” Ronan asked, “Or are you telling me something?” 

Adam wasn’t sure he was equipped, in this moment, to be able to answer this. His eyes were still shut, but he screwed them up tighter. 

“Adam,” Ronan said, his thumb brushing gently over Adam’s closed eyes. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be whole again.” 

It was too much. Too much. 

He pressed forwards, ducked his head so their foreheads wouldn’t collide, pressed himself against Ronan’s front. Clung to him like a child. 

Or. Not like a child. He’d never clung like this as a child. Clung to him as he’d wished he’d been able to do every night for the past few months, like he wished he’d done that night on the deck. 

Ronan let him cling, wrapped his own arms around Adam until he was holding him firmly against his chest. 

Nothing was really making sense right now. Nothing but touch. 

“I can’t make you whole,” Adam said into Ronan’s cheek, “I’m not whole myself.” 

“Parrish,” Ronan sighed, his voice much clearer now his mouth was by Adam’s ear. “You need to sleep.” 

Maybe he did. Or maybe he just needed this. Needed to be held. 

“I’ll still be here in the morning,” Ronan said, “if you still want to tell me your secrets once you sober up.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Adam replied immediately, shocked, a little bit horrified. He pushed himself enough away so that he could see Ronan’s face. He didn’t want Ronan to think - how could Ronan think - 

“No,” Ronan said, his hands following Adam’s movement. “No, no, I know. Parrish. I meant - not drunk - I meant - sometimes it feels the same. Like you get a burst of - of recklessness. To make up for the fear, and the shakiness of it all. Just - I don’t want you to say something you wouldn’t say if you didn’t feel so -” 

Whatever it was that Adam was feeling, he felt it a lot more now as he dragged himself up into a sitting position and swallowed down on it all. 

“So  _ what _ ?” 

Ronan didn’t sit up, didn’t let go of Adam either. Looked up at Adam, eyes darker than the dark around them. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just don't want you to say something you’d regret.” 

It was odd. Having Ronan caution him on being reckless, even with words. It stung, a little, and he blinked, trying to make the sting go away. Everything was stupid right now. Right down to the truth of how right Ronan was about how Adam was feeling. The recklessness that seeped through him after he felt safe after being so full of fear and panic. It was just adrenaline making him run amok. He didn’t want Ronan to curb, it though. 

There was this - this feeling of - of synchronicity. Of Ronan saying the things Adam was thinking. He kind of preferred it when they weren't said. He kind of preferred it when they were said. 

Ronan spoke again before Adam could work up a suitable response, before he could make his heart stop stinging. 

“I don’t know you as well as I did,” he said. His hand was somehow in Adam’s. “But I still know you need time and space to think, and I still know how heavy you feel to yourself.” 

Adam shouldn’t feel as known as he did right now. As seen. 

“If I’m the Three of Swords,” Ronan said, tugging at Adam’s hand now, “both upright and reversed. I don’t want you to impale yourself on me until you’ve had time to think.” 

Tonight was stupid in so many ways. 

“I’ve had over three years,” Adam pointed out. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about you.” 

“I might,” Ronan contested, still tugging at Adam’s hand. “I might. But give it one more night. Please.” 

Adam allowed himself to be pulled back down. Lay himself out along Ronan’s side, pressed his face to Ronan’s neck. 

“You can read for me tomorrow,” Ronan said, “if you still want.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fellas, is it gay if u pine, and if u pine while in each others arms, and if u pine while in each others arms and attempting to express how deeply ur in love but ur heart keeps tripping u up???
> 
> Asking for a friend.


	13. Chapter 13

Last night felt like a dream. It had that odd sort of lack of continuity while still feeling streamlined. That underwater fuzzy feeling, where things were both much harder and much easier to do. If it wasn’t for the fact that Ronan could literally feel Adam in his arms, he would have brushed it all aside as a dream fantasy. 

Adam was still asleep, snoring just a little, face squished against Ronan’s shoulder so drastically that he was also drooling a little on Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan, against his best intentions, found this a little adorable, and definitely something he was going to tease Adam about later, once things felt less delicate. 

For now, he was content to just stay where he was, being drooled on, wrapped up around Adam, Adam wrapped up around him. The lingering anticipation in the pit of his stomach could wait for now. Could wait until Adam had rested enough, had slept away his terror and discomfort. 

On one hand, Ronan was reasonably certain there was only one way to interpret the way Adam had been acting towards him, to interpret what Adam had said to him last night, how he had clung to him. 

On the other hand, Ronan had given up a long while ago on believing in people’s affection or love without it being explicitly stated. He didn’t want to have any uncertainty over that sort of thing. He believed Adam loved him at least as a friend. Adam had made that clear enough verbally. He would not believe there was any other sort of love waiting there, unless Adam told him, straight up. 

He could ask, he supposed. But. If he was  _ wrong _ , if Adam just loved him the way Gansey and Blue loved him, if Adam turned him down  _ again _ , well. He just really didn’t want to go through that again. 

“Mmf,” Adam grumbled, “oh my God. Am I drooling on you?”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, “disgusting. You disgust me, Parrish. You’re banned for life.” 

Adam wiped at his mouth, and then at Ronan’s shoulder with the sheet before replying. “Banned for life from what? Your shoulder? Drooling?” 

“Dunno,” Ronan admitted, didn’t want Adam to get up yet, kept his arm tight around Adam’s waist. “But you’re definitely banned.” 

“Oh dear,” Adam sighed, put his head back down on Ronan’s now dry shoulder, sighed heavily. “How sad.” 

He wanted to ask, God, he wanted to ask. He wanted to know. He didn’t want to ruin anything. He didn’t want Adam to stop resting against him, didn’t want Adam to get out of his bed, his room, his life. 

“Breakfast?” 

-

He would have quite liked to have just stayed with Adam for the rest of the day, until Adam got his cards and sealed their fate, or whatever the actual hell was going to happen. However, Adam had a study group session to get to, and Ronan had been guilted into lunch with Declan and Matthew and Ashley, so they did have to part ways after breakfast. 

“Come ‘round tonight,” Adam said while he got ready to go. 

Gansey and Blue were sitting at the table, pretending not to be paying attention to the fact that; A. Adam had slept in Ronan’s bed, and, B. Adam was saying goodbye specifically to Ronan while Ronan stood close enough that their knees knocked together.

“I’ll be back home about four, so anytime after that,” Adam continued, “If you’re still free.” 

“I’m free,” Ronan said. “I’ll see you then.” 

“Yeah,” Adam nodded, looked over Ronan’s shoulder. “Bye, Gans, Blue,” he said, “sory for the late night last night.” 

“No worries, Adam,” Gansey called back, waved with a hand full of banana peel. “Anytime!” 

“Okay,” Adam said, gaze back on Ronan. “Bye.” 

It was very tempting to just lean forward and kiss Adam goodbye here. It felt almost like he was supposed to. He resisted. Watched as Adam left. Waited for Gansey and Blue to begin the interrogation. 

“So,” Blue said, not quite jumping feet first into it. “Is he feeling better this morning?” 

“I think so,” Ronan grunted, stomping back into the kitchen and crossing over to see if there was any coffee left.

“He sounded a lot better,” Gansey offered, held his coffee mug up in silent request. “You two slept well, then?” 

“Yes,” Ronan said, took Gansey’s mug. 

“And what’s on tonight?” Blue asked, keeping her gaze innocently down at her cereal (coco bombs with yogurt and banana). “Your evening rendevouz?” 

Ronan poured more coffee for himself, filled Gansey’s mug. 

“He’s going to do a reading for me,” he said stiffly, putting Gansey’s coffee down in front of him. “And I fucking hope that after that, we’ll kiss a bit.” 

“Ah,” Gansey said, shifted in his chair so he could lean back a bit and look at Ronan. “Oh good.” 

Ronan declined to investigate that ‘oh good’. 

“Be careful with readings,” Blue advised, stealing Gansey’s coffee for a slurp. “Listen to what Adam says rather than jumping to your own conclusions.” 

“I’m not stupid,” Ronan grumbled. 

“No,” Blue agreed, “but you are very dumb sometimes.” 

“It’s true,” Gansey said cheerfully. Leaned further backwards so he could catch at Ronan’s t-shirt. “I hadn’t realised that the two of you - I didn’t think you were feeling… steady enough for -” 

“Next time I’ll write a newsletter,” Ronan said, swallowed an over large gulp of coffee. “And I don’t fucking know, Dick. I don’t know what we’re doing yet.” 

-

  
  


Lunch was at Declan’s house, and it became very evident the moment Ronan got there, that Declan had asked him to come earlier than he had asked Matthew to come. Even Ashley wasn’t home. 

“Is this where you step aside to reveal a trapdoor?” Ronan asked, slowly following Declan in to the kitchen. 

Declan hadn’t really greeted him when he’d opened the door to him. Just nodded, and turned around trusting Ronan to follow him in and shut the door behind him. Ronan knew this was mostly his own fault, but it still stung a little, having Declan revert back to his old school distance rather than the tentative brotherhood they’d built up while Ronan had stayed here with him. 

“Ash and Matty will be here in half an hour,” Declan said tautly, not looking around as he reached the fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of soda water. “Do you want a drink?” 

What Ronan wanted was for things to be easy, to just work out, to not wake up every day and wonder what stupid thing he was going to struggle with today. He shrugged. 

Declan grabbed him a coke, set it on the counter, unscrewed his own yucky drink and took a sip. 

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day,” Declan said, at the same time that Ronan spoke. 

“I fucked up,” Ronan blurted out. 

Declan eyed him cautiously, then pulled out a couple of the counter stools and sat on one. He patted the one next to him in invitation, and Ronan sighed and moved to sit on it, to open his coke. 

“Go on, then,” Declan said once Ronan had drunk a little. “You first.” 

Ronan would prefer not to go first, he’d prefer not to go at all, really. He cleared his throat. 

“I forgot what day it was,” he said, quiet, ashamed of this as well as everything that had followed it. “So I - when you reminded me - I overreacted. I as upset. I lashed out. I shouldn’t have.” 

Declan didn’t reply, just nodded. 

“I’m trying,” Ronan said to the countertop, had to clear his throat again. “I really am, Dec. I’m trying so fucking hard to be better. But it’s - I know that doesn’t just fucking miraculously clear me of any of the shit I do, but I - God. I don’t wanna be how I am.” 

Declan nodded again. Took another sip of his water. 

“I wanted to go with you and Matty,” Ronan continued, picked at his nails. “So bad. I miss her. All the time.” 

“I know,” Declan said. “I know, Ronan.” 

Ronan kept his gaze on the marbled counter top. Didn’t want to look up at Declan to see his expression. Didn’t want to know how disappointed he was, or unsurprised, or unmoved. He wasn’t saying any of this to change Declan’s opinion of him, not really. He was saying this because it was the truth and he didn’t want to be that asshole anymore. 

Declan touched his shoulder, just lightly, then gripped it firmly, squeezed. 

“We can still go,” Declan offered. “Not this weekend, but the next maybe. Us three. I miss her too.” 

Ronan nodded. 

“I know you have Gansey,” Declan said, “and Sargant, and Cheng. And now Parrish, so I hear. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped worrying about you, Ronan. That doesn’t mean I’ve just handed you off and stopped caring.” 

Ronan nodded. 

“I want us to be a family,” Declan said, his voice on the verge of hesitant. “I’ve always wanted that, but I want it now more than ever. I want to have kids, Ronan. I want you to be their uncle. I want them to feel safer and more loved than we ever did. I want you to feel that too.” 

Ronan had no intentions of crying right now, so he simply swallowed, closed his eyes, nodded again. 

“Please,” Declan said, “please tell me we can do that.” 

“We can do that,” Ronan agreed, cleared his throat loudly. “We can. I promise.” 

Declan smiled at him when Ronan lifted his head up again. They shared a moment of quiet happiness, the both of them taking another sip of their drinks. 

“So,” Declan said. “Parrish?” 

“Oh no,” Ronan said, snorted out a laugh, “we are so fucking  _ not  _ gonna do this right now, Dec.”

-

He got to Adam’s at just past five, having spent lunch, and then a better part of the afternoon at Declan’s, eating, looking at wedding venues, and then teaming up with Matthew and absolutely flooring Decan and Ashley in charades. He hadn’t texted Adam to let him know he was on his way, but Adam opened the door before he’d even knocked. 

“Uh,” Ronan said, hand still in the air. 

“Psychic,” Adam said, stepped aside to let Ronan in. “Well. Sometimes more so than other times.” 

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” Ronan asked, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. 

“You’re thinking that about the letter X because you didn’t want to be thinking about something obvious,” Adam replied, grinned at Ronan. 

Ronan may or may not have been thinking of the letter X because he didn’t want to be thinking about something obvious. He glared at Adam, then brushed past him to go sit at the table. Adam’s cards were already out. Or at least, he assumed they were the tarot cards, because he’d never come across a normal playing card set with those kind of pictures. 

Adam followed him, settled across from him. 

“You wanna get right to it, huh?” 

“Yes,” Ronan replied, pushed the cards towards Adam. “Read for me.” 

Adam nodded, touched the cards with just his fingertips, then shook his head and pushed them back towards Ronan. 

“Shuffle them for me,” he said, “and then draw three cards and place them face down in front of you.” 

“I thought you were meant to do the work,” Ronan protested, picked the cards up anyway. 

“I do the reading,” Adam corrected, “sometimes it’s better if the one asking is the one picking the cards.” 

“And what,” Ronan said, “what am I asking?” 

“You tell me.” 

Ronan hesitated. He had a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but most of them he wanted to ask Adam, not the pack of cards. He wondered if it would essentially turn out to be the same thing, asking Adam, asking Adam through tarot. He shuffled, thoughtful. 

“Do I have to tell you?” he asked, looking up at Adam whose eyes were fixed on his hands shuffling. “Can you read it without knowing the question?” 

“Yes,” Adam said slowly. “I can. It’s a little harder though. I might assume something and read it a little to the left.” 

Ronan nodded. “My question,” he said, “is - uh -  _ Am I allowed _ .” 

It was a vague question, and Ronan knew it. He just had to hope it wasn’t too vague to be read, too vague to be interpreted. Adam just nodded, so he supposed it was going to be fine. He picked three cards, laid them down. 

Adam stood up, circled the table so he was standing by Ronan’s elbow. 

“Can I make a prediction?” Adam asked, his voice barely betraying the slight trembling that Ronan could feel running through Adam’s body, bleeding into Ronan’s where they pressed together, elbow to hip. 

“You’re the psychic,” Ronan pointed out, giving permission. 

Adam leaned down lower, so their faces were on the same level, so their shoulders were pressed together. He reached out, tapped the card on the left. 

“This one,” he said, “is the three of swords, reversed.” 

“Okay,” Ronan said, waited for Adam to turn it. 

Adam didn’t turn it, instead tapped on the middle card. “This one,” he said, and now his voice shook a little. “Is the Magician. My card.” 

Ronan could only hope. 

“And the last one?” Ronan asked, when Adam withdrew his hand without tapping the card on the right. 

“I don’t want to guess that one,” Adam said, “I just want to see it.” 

“Okay,” Ronan said, “so turn them over, magician. Show me how right you are.” 

Adam grunted a little, like he wanted to be displeased, but he wasn’t. He placed one hand on Ronan’s shoulder, as if he needed balance, and then flipped the cards quickly. 

The three of swords. The Magician. The Lovers. 

Neither of them said anything for a moment, Adam’s hand tightening on Ronan’s shoulder. Unbearable. He looked up at Adam, needing Adam to speak, to say  _ something _ . 

“I want to try something,” Adam said, not looking back at Ronan. “Pick up The Lovers, shuffle it into the pack, and then pull another card.” 

Ronan didn’t move. His stomach felt heavy and hollow and hellish inside him. “You don’t,” he said, slow, “you don’t want it.” 

“No,” Adam said, quick, “no, no. I do - I - I just need. Please.” 

Ronan picked up The Lovers. He shuffled it into the pack. He lost in thoroughly. He picked the card from the top and placed it face up on the table. 

The Lovers. 

“Now,” Adam said, his voice no more than a breath, “draw another card.” 

Ronan did as he was told. He drew another card, went to place it next to The Lovers. 

The Lovers was gone. He frowned, confused, placed the new card in The Lovers spot. 

The Lovers. 

He looked up to Adam, confused, confused, hopeful, hopeful. 

Adam kissed him. Was already bending down further as Ronan looked up. Pressed himself to Ronan like he was answering a question Ronan had been meaning to ask. 

“Oh,” Ronan said against Adam’s lips. 

Adam took advantage of Ronan’s open mouth, kissed him deeper, their lips dragging against each others wetly. 

It wasn’t the most elegant kiss he’d ever received, definitely not the most precise, it wasn’t even the sloppiest, but it was - it was the fucking best. 

Adam was kissing him like he had something to say, and he intended on saying it on repeat, loudly, passionately. 

If Ronan hadn’t been sitting down already, he would need to now. Seeing as he  _ was _ sitting, all he did was push his chair out a little more and drag his hands against Adam’s sides, pulling him closer and closer until the both of them were on the chair and the two of them were touching almost everywhere, and he could feel the kiss all over; in his stomach, in his lungs, his lips, his fingers, the tips of his toes,  _ everywhere _ . 

Maybe they should be actually speaking right now. With words instead of touch, but. That’s what they had been doing. And besides. They had so much time to make up for. So many memories to override. So much to rewrite.

He pulled out of the kiss before even he was ready to end it, gasped for breath with his forehead pressed to Adam’s, Adam’s mouth vying for his again already. 

“Do I get my money back?” Ronan asked, hoarse. 

“Huh?” Adam breathed, pressed another quick desperate kiss to the corner of Ronan’s mouth before lifting his head up and looking at Ronan properly. “What?” 

Adam’s eyes were blown, his pupils ridiculous, their rims red. There were  _ tears _ on his cheeks. Ronan freed one of his hands from half under Adam’s shirt (he had no idea how he got there but he wasn’t upset about it), lifted it to stroke Adam’s cheek. Felt a little bad for joking. 

“Well,” he said, “you never read my fortune.” 

“Fucker,” Adam said, grinned wide enough that Ronan could feel it under his hand. Another tear fell against Ronan’s thumb. “God. Is this not answer enough?” 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. 

“I mean,” Ronan said, lifted his other hand so he was cupping Adam’s face. “You might need to spell it out for me a little.” 

He was joking, and he knew Adam knew this, but Adam obliged him anyway. 

“My reading was the same,” Adam said, tipping forwards in Ronan’s lap, closing his eyes and letting Ronan’s hands guide him back down to Ronan’s face. “I read for myself the other day and it was only me and you and The Lovers. Over, and over, and over. I thought I was - I thought I was tipping the scales accidentally with my own feelings, which is why I wanted you to shuffle your cards. I wanted it to be true.” 

“Well I’m not unbiased, either,” Ronan pointed out, kissed salt off of Adam’s cheek. “So we’ve had two biased readings saying the same thing.” 

“In this case,” Adam said, “I don’t think having a biased reader changed the outcome.” 

“No,” Ronan agreed. “Will you take me to bed?” 

Now Adam hesitated. He opened his eyes and pulled back from Ronan again. Not enough to pull out of Ronan’s hands, just enough for them to see each other clearly. 

“Ronan,” he said, said it so well, said it so that the only meaning it had was  _ Ronan _ . “I need - I need to know. I need to know this isn’t a - a means to an end.” 

It stung, but it was fair. 

“I’m only hoping,” Ronan said, as steady as he could, “that there is no end.” 

Adam exhaled. 

“But tonight,” Ronan carried on, careful, “tonight isn’t that anyway. I don’t want - I mean, I  _ do want _ , but - I just want to sleep with you again. To hold you. To get to kiss you. To leave…  _ that _ for another conversation.” 

Adam nodded, leaned back in - thank God - kissed him. 

“Okay,” he said, “but you know it’s not even six, right? It’s not exactly bed time.” 

“I didn’t say we’d sleep,” Ronan grumbled, “it’s just that I think making out is better while lying down.” 

“I’m going to get hungry soon,” Adam warned, helped Ronan stand up anyway. 

“We’ll order pizza,” Ronan suggested, let Adam start leading him to the bedroom. “Adam.” 

Adam paused, the both of them in the bedroom doorway, Ronan’s hands itching to touch more. 

“Ronan?” 

“I need to say this now.” 

Adam tipped his head to the side, waited. 

“I love you,” Ronan said, forced himself to say it slow instead of blurting it all out in one exhale of neediness. “I love you, and I’ve loved you for years, and I - I didn’t stop. Not while I was away. Not after - not after that night. I just always have.” 

Adam closed his eyes, like this was unbearable to hear. 

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, just as slow and steady as Ronan’s admission. “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready back then.” Ronan shook his head, but Adam carried on. “I’m extra sorry because I loved you then as well, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel safe in it. I’m sorry. And. I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nb. everytime declan is in scene he is; a. crying, and, b. also crying, and i just don't write it in bcos its obvious


	14. Chapter 14

This was the third time in the last few days that Ronan had woken up next to Adam. Though each time had been  _ enjoyable _ in the fact that he was waking up next to  _ Adam _ , this morning was the best by far. 

First and foremost, it was the best because it held no uncertainty. Last night had been his lips on Adam’s, and his hands in Adam’s hair, and Adam holding him so tightly, Adam pressing him down against his bed and whispering almost feverishly about how much he wanted this, wanted Ronan, wanted, wanted, wanted. They had taken a break from touching and kissing so as to order pizza once Adam’s stomach had complained too loudly, and then after they’d eaten (in the kitchen because crumbs in the bed sucked), they returned to the kissing part of the night. 

The both of them might have wanted to go further, to take off everything, not just their jeans and shirts, but - but going further meant more conversations, and right then Ronan at the very least just wanted touch. 

He knew he was going to have to talk about it. That  _ they _ were going to have to talk about it. The way Ronan viewed it. Sex, that is. How he’d used it as a weapon against himself. Whether or not he felt okay about it. Whether he was going to feel horrible and disgusting, and like he was tarnishing this new and clean relationship they had started. 

He wasn’t looking forward to that. 

Or. He was. Because after they’d had that talk then maybe he would get to suck Adam’s dick, and that was something he had been thinking about on and off for about five years now. 

Anyway. 

He had woken up this morning, in Adam’s arms, or, Adam was in his arms. He had woken up feeling rested, he’d slept the whole night once they’d started yawning more than kissing. He’d woken up and felt like something had clicked back into place. Not all his malfunctioned parts, no, that would take more than a miracle, but. But -

But something that had been  _ wrong _ was now right, and he could feel it right down to his marrow. He wanted Adam awake right now, wanted Adam to kiss him right now, wanted Adam to kiss him and feel that extra piece of  _ right _ in Ronan. He poked Adam in the ribs. 

Adam wriggled, but didn’t wake up, snorted a little half aborted snore. Ronan kissed his cheek, rubbed his stubbly chin against it, nosed at Adam’s nose. No one was here to point out how abominably cute this was, so who gave a fuck. 

Adam grumbled, but now he opened his eyes, eyelashes fluttering and showing only the whites of his eyes for a few moments, and then opening properly. 

“Mm,” he said, “mornin’.” 

There were few things better to hear in the morning than Adam’s Henrietta drawl laced with sleep. Ronan felt like he just going to melt, like some lovestruck loon in a comic. 

“Kiss me,” Ronan said, nudged his face closer to Adam, their noses bumping. 

“Hm,” Adam said, “bossy.” 

This didn’t appear to be an issue, however, because Adam kissed him immediately, opening his mouth against Ronan’s even despite their morning breath and Ronan’s dry lips and bossiness. 

Ronan reveled in the kiss for a few long moments; letting Adam be the one to lead it, letting Adam hitch himself up onto his elbow to lean in over Ronan more and press him against the pillow. Then he pushed back, hooking his leg around behind Adam’s knee, his hand around his hip, flipped the both of them over and crawled up so he could straddle Adam’s hips and to kiss him more deeply. 

They’d both just woken up and yet they were also both exceedingly down for this, if Adam’s half muffled groan was anything to go from, at least. He wondered how long it had been since Adam had woken up with a...lover. Since Adam had been  _ touched _ . He wondered how long it had been since he himself had actually truly  _ enjoyed _ this kind of thing. Since he’d kissed for the sheer joy of kissing. Since being touched made his stomach light in the right kind of way. 

Adam’s hips moved up against his own, not much fabric between their skin at all, and Ronan could very clearly feel the shape of Adam’s dick hardening between them, his own dick very much on the same page. 

God. He did not want to have to have the whole ‘sex kind of fucks me up in a bad way sometimes’ talk right now. Neither did he want to just ignore it and let this slide from petting and kissing and rubbing into something that might make his stomach curdle, might make his breathing hurt, might make him want to curl up and away from Adam and ache. 

Fuck. 

He broke the kiss, moving instead to heave lungfuls of air against Adam’s neck, to mouth somewhat absentmindedly at the dark freckle right there under Adam’s jaw. To slide his hands up from Adam’s hips, to his chest, to his shoulders, to his face. 

“Wait,” he said, he sounded a little strangled. Adam’s hands were under his underwear hem, gripping the top of his butt cheek. He wanted so much more. “Wait,” he repeated. 

Adam’s hand withdrew, came to rest on Ronan’s hip instead. He tipped his head down a little so he could see Ronan’s face, giving himself a slight double chin as he did so. Ronan poked it, just because he didn’t think he’d  _ ever _ seen Adam with a double chin before and he quite enjoyed it. 

“Y’all right?” Adam breathed, ghosted a kiss against Ronan’s cheek. “Too much?” 

“Mm,” Ronan said, wanted so much more. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Adam said, shifted against him until he had a good grip on Ronan, and then tipped the both of them sideways so they were lying facing each other, and no one’s dick was attempting to get in closer contact with anyone else’s dick. “Do you wanna get up?” 

“Hmm-no,” Ronan hummed, tipped his face up in obvious request of kissing. “I don’t wanna put clothes on yet.” 

“Okay,” Adam said again, didn’t seem at all put out by this. Agreed to Ronan’s request, kissed him more. 

-

The cards were still on the table, and while Adam showered, Ronan hesitated around them for a few moments before coming to sit down to look at them again. He didn’t have a huge amount of knowledge about tarot, or about psychic shit, despite having been friends with Blue and Adam, and now living with Blue and sleeping with Adam. He didn’t know what to expect, really. Yesterday he had gone into the reading with only his trust in Adam. Trust that Adam wouldn’t do something fake, that Adam wouldn’t devote time and energy into anything he didn’t 100% believe in. Trust that he wouldn’t purposefully misread whatever magic fuckery he saw. 

His reading was still spread; his card, Adam’s card, and The Lovers. 

He wondered if, without Adam present, he would still only be able to pull The Lovers, if the cards would still be as focused and intent on delivering that singular message to them. 

Why did it matter, really, though? What really mattered was that Adam trusted that this was what he wanted, and that Ronan knew that this was what he wanted. Would  _ not _ drawing The Lovers again diminish his knowledge? Put a stick in his spokes? No. Would drawing The Lovers again enhance what he already knew? No. 

He made pancakes, and when Adam came out of the shower, they ate them with jam and sliced bananas and had coffee, and Adam allowed himself to be covered in jammy kisses even though he’d just gotten clean. 

-

After Adam had done the dishes, and Ronan had showered, Ronan considered what it was that he needed to ask first. Wanted to ask first. Adam came up behind him while he considered, placed his hands on Ronan’s hips, then slid them around to embrace him, pressed his face to Ronan’s neck, kissed him there. 

“You’re very still,” Adam said, kissed him again. “And quiet.” 

“I want to know more about you being psychic,” Ronan said, leaned back against Adam’s chest, kept watching the tree branches outside the window. “I want to hear about - about the last three years. About how you began learning. About when you knew you were. About - I wanna know everything.” 

“Hmm,” Adam said, squeezed him a little around the middle. “I’ll try and explain everything the best I can. It’s not as logical as I’d like, or as easy to put into words. If it wasn’t part of me I don’t think I’d be drawn to it, honestly.” 

“But it is part of you.” 

“Yes,” Adam kissed him again, behind his ear, then leaned forwards to prop his head on Ronan’s shoulder. “You’re a part of me.” 

That was a difficult act to follow. Ronan closed his eyes, turned his head a little so it was more his cheek than his ear in Adam’s face. 

“I’m your appendix,” he joked.

Adam scoffed, but then he shifted his grip on Ronan to turn him bodily around so that they were facing each other properly. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, very seriously. “You’re in my marrow, Ronan. You’re everywhere in me.” 

Ronan swallowed. He could make some other joke here, definitely, but. But Adam’s expression was too earnest, too serious. He swallowed again, blinked hard. 

“I’m not saying I can’t live without you,” Adam said, smiled a little and squeezed Ronan’s sides, “but I am saying that I don’t want to. That my life is preferable - better - with you in it. You’re not some useless organ that I could go without reasonably easily.”

Ronan swallowed again because there was something very spiky in his throat that just was refusing to go down. 

“Not to like, steal your limelight,” Ronan mumbled, dropped his gaze down to Adam’s feet, leaned forwards so that their foreheads knocked together. “But the thought of you has kept me sane for the last few years.” 

“Cheesy,” Adam said, pulled Ronan close, kissed the top of his head. “What about now? Please tell me Kit is keeping you sane.” 

“Fucker,” Ronan mumbled, buried his face in Adam’s shoulder. “Kit does their best at it, so don’t worry, the burden of keeping me sane is not charged to you alone.” 

“It would be alright if it was,” Adam said, “for you. Know that, okay?” 

“Cheesy,” Ronan shot back. 

-

Adam had to go to work in the afternoon, so Ronan went back to his. He informed Blue and Gansey on the couch of the development between him and Adam, informed them that he didn’t want them to make a big fuss of it, and then went to his room to feed Chainsaw. He and Chainsaw had about five minutes of peace before Gansey knocked on his door. 

“I’m not making a big fuss,” Gansey said, his hands up as he slipped around Ronan’s door and sat on the edge of the bed. “I wanted to say that I’m happy for you two.” 

“That’s pushing it,” Ronan said, nudged Chainsaw’s beak away from his earrings, tried not to smile too much. 

“Adam’s,” Gansey said slowly. “Adam’s good for you. And I - he’s sensible.” 

“Okay, gee, thanks,” Ronan snorted. “Preaching to the choir here, dick.” 

“I know, I know,” Gansey said, patted the bed next to him insistently until Ronan gave in and came to sit next to him. “He’s missed you. A lot. So. I’m really happy that you two have worked it out.” 

“We were always going to,” Ronan said to his knees. “If - you know how he turned me down. Back in Henrietta. Back before I left.” 

“Mm,” Gansey said, “yes.” 

“If it wasn’t for, if it wasn’t for all the  _ shit _ that happened so soon after,” Ronan mumbled. “I was gonna - fuck, man. I  _ knew _ that we were fucking meant to be. I don’t care if that makes me sound like a - like a fucking idiot. I was gonna wait, because I - because he didn’t say no to me. He didn’t say no to us. He said no to right then. The timing was  _ fucked _ was all.” 

Gansey was silent a moment, but Ronan could practically hear his beaming smile. “You’re such a romantic,” he said. “Who knew!” 

“No one,” Ronan said, “and it’s gonna stay that way.” 

“No fear,” Gansey assured him, hands up, grin still firmly on his face. “I won’t say anything, but your being extremely in love may give the game away.” 

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, leaned until he could rest his head on top of Gansey’s. “I wasn’t so sure when I got back, y’know.” 

“That you were meant to be?” 

“Mm,” Ronan cleared his throat. “I mean. I knew that I still - that I still fucking loved him. Seeing him again was like - was like a fucking forest fire, jesus  _ shit _ , man. I was - you know when you just - you just feel numb so often that you forget what real emotions feel like? Like all you know is this stupid heaviness and like… fog. Seeing him was - was - was like feeling shit again.” 

“Wow,” Gansey said, wrapped his arm around Ronan’s waist, hugged their sides together. 

Ronan cleared his throat again, squeezed his eyes shut. “And it fucking hurt. It hurt so fucking bad because - because I’m not an idiot. I knew how much I’d fucked up everything. Myself, you guys, my brothers, my  _ body _ . I wasn’t expecting him to even want to look at me.” 

“But he does,” Gansey said, as if Ronan needed reminding. “We all do. We love you.” 

Ronan groaned, mostly to stop himself from sniffling. “Okay,” he said, “I love you guys too, dickwad.” 

“Have you told him?” Gansey said. 

“That I love him? Uh. Yeah,” Ronan said. “Like twelve hundred times, in between each kiss.” 

“How sweet,” Gansey snorted, “but, uh, I meant. Have you told him how you felt about it? About him seeing you again. How it made you feel?” 

Ronan hesitated. “A little,” he said. “There’s a lot we still need to - there’s a lot we probably need to fill each other in about,” he admitted. “Like - shit, never mind, God.” 

“What?” 

“Nah,” Ronan said, snorted again and pulled himself upright, “I was gonna talk about  _ sex _ with you, and then I remembered you’re a prude.” 

“Hey!” Gansey protested, “I’ll have you know I have sex quite frequently! I’m not a prude.” 

Ronan grinned, “I know,” he said. “My bedroom’s next to yours, I know just how often you have sex.” 

“Ah!” Gansey said, his face only pinkening slightly. “Ronan!” 

“Mm,” Ronan nodded. “Look. I love you, man, I do, but. I’m not gonna talk to you about sex. My sex at least.” 

“Whose sex would you talk to me about, then?”

“I dunno,” Ronan shrugged, grinned at Gansey’s bemused look. “Maybe we could go through the fucking Aglionby year books and say who we think will never have sex after thirty because by then they’ll be too boring  _ and _ too repulsive.” 

-

“I could bring him next time,” Ronan said, his head on his knees, feet on the couch. 

It was monday, and he had therapy, and Kit was, for lack of a better word,  _ extremely _ interested in the weekend developments. 

“That could be useful,” Kit said, “but only if you think it’s useful.” 

“I dunno,” Ronan admitted, rubbed his chin on his jean covered knees. “Actually. Nah. I do know. I don’t think. I don’t think it’d be useful.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mm,” Ronan closed his eyes. “I know I said, like, it’d be nice if you could just write up a tidy little list of all the things fucked up with me so I could just hand it to him, but. But I wanna tell him myself. I want to be able to just… it’s fucking important to me that I can tell him this stuff.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan repeated firmly, cleared his throat. “I need to - he’s - I trust him. I want him to know me. I mean. He  _ does _ know me, I know he knows me, but. But I need him to know everything. Like. Not like I’m going to tell him in detail about every single person who’s fucked me, or that shit. But. But - fuck, I don’t know how to explain this shit.” 

“No,” Kit said, “I get it, Ronan. I do. You need to be able to let him know what you’ve been through because it has affected you deeply. He needs to understand why some things might trigger you, and you need to know that he loves you for all that you are.” 

Ronan nodded, ducked his head further down so his forehead was resting against his knees. Tried again. 

“It’s stupid,” he murmered. “Because on one hand I feel like I know him better than I know myself, but on the other, there’s years worth of not knowing.” 

“And that’s important to the both you,” Kit said, “that you don’t have blank spots about each other.” 

Ronan nodded. “I - I don’t ever want my past to be able to come back and - and try and get between me and my future. The only way I can be sure that won’t happen is if I make sure my future knows my past.” 

-

“So,” Adam said, greeting Ronan at his front door that evening with a kiss. “Your brother texted me.” 

“Gross,” Ronan mumbled, flopped bodily against Adam so Adam had to grasp onto him and back the both of them inside. “What’d he want?” 

“Mm.” Adam pulled the door shut behind them somehow with his foot, and then propped Ronan up against it so he could kiss him again. “To invite the both of us to dinner next Saturday.” 

“Ugh,” Ronan said, kissed Adam again. “He’s such a creep, going around asking you and not me.” 

“I said I’d have to ask you,” Adam said calmly, kissed Ronan again, cupped his face with his hands and just pressed their foreheads together. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Ronan replied, perfectly content to just be pressed together, breathing the same air. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you,” Adam said, sounded a little embarrassed. “I think a part of my brain thinks it’s very rude we separate at all now that we’ve finally kissed again.” 

“Oh,” Ronan said, “I completely agree. My whole brain thinks that. And my arms. And my ears. Plus other parts of me.” 

“Hm,” Adam said. “Interesting.” 

“You smell good,” Ronan mumbled, then, “I wanna talk to you.” 

“Okay?” Adam said, laughed a little, “So talk, sweetheart.” 

“Oh my God,” Ronan groaned. “Did you just?” 

“Uh,” Adam snorted, pulled away from Ronan enough to grab his hand and start dragging him further into the house. “Yeah. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, man, sorry. You’re my sweetheart. My sugar.” 

He drawled the last part, letting his Henrietta accent drag it out for far too many syllables until the bottom of Ronan’s stomach felt like it would just fall entirely out. 

“Hm,” Ronan said, couldn’t come up with any additional argument. 

“So,” Adam said, steering them towards the couch so they could sit. “What did you wanna talk about,  _ sugar? _ ” 

“Ngh,” Ronan said, sat down heavily, stole a quick kiss, blurted out his conversation topic quickly before he could be distracted. “Sex.” 

“Oh,” Adam said, laughed, “well, okay then!” 

“I wanna have it with you,” Ronan said, then groaned again, cleared his throat, tried to reorganise his thoughts, his battle plan for attacking this stupid subject. 

“I want to have it with you, too,” Adam said, lifted his hand up to press gently against Ronan’s cheek. “But we don’t have to right away. I’m happy to wait.” 

“Ugh,” Ronan said, “Cool, cool. It’s just. Fuck.” 

Adam waited, his hand still on Ronan’s cheek, palm cool and calming. 

“Sometimes,” Ronan got out, his eyes mostly shut, just little splinters of light getting through his lashes. “All the time. While I was. When I was. During the last three years. While I was. Away. It was - I think I treated it a lot like I treated drugs. It was. It was an addiction. Or. A payment method. And it - I hated it a lot, Adam.” 

Adam nodded, kept quiet and still, as if he knew that if he moved or spoke right now he’d spook Ronan out of continuing. 

“I hated it, and I hated myself, and it was a good - it was a good way to punish myself, or to - ugh.”

He took a moment. Breathed. Continued. 

“I know you  _ know _ that it’s - that it’s something that’s - that’s a  _ lot _ for me. And I just - I wanted to let you know that it - that I do want to have it with you, but that I need us to go slow. Like stupid slow. Like dial up internet slow.” 

“We can do that,” Adam assured him, lifted his other hand to cup the other side of Ronan’s face, stroked his thumb down Ronan’s cheek, his hands so cool on Ronan’s flushed cheeks, his voice so steady against Ronan’s painfully beating heart. 

“I’m so -” He had to gulp here, to swallow a few times. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so - I’m so  _ ashamed _ , Adam. I’m so - it - I feel like - it -  _ fuck _ .” 

“It’s okay,” Adam mumbled, shifted forwards on the couch to wrap his arms around Ronan properly, to tug him against him. “Hey, hey, darlin’. Darlin’, it’s okay. I know it hurts. I know. But I don’t - I  _ never _ \- you don’t gotta feel ashamed around me, okay?” 

Ronan exhaled - ignored the fact that it was a sob really. “I - fuck, Adam. I was s’posed to be composed as fuck about this.” 

“I don’t need you to be composed,” Adam said, “I just need you to be real with me.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan said, very eloquent and composed and all that shit. “I’m always real with you. I always try to be real with you. You’re - fuck, you’re the closest I get to truth.” 

“Okay,” Adam said, stroked his hand down Ronan, from his head all the way down his back. Held him tight. “Okay darlin’.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan said again. “I wanted to talk about this with you properly, but I don’t think I can right now. It’s just so much. It’s too much. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Adam soothed. “We’ve got all the time in the world now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guyyyys i'm VERY tipsy, im possibly drunk, i wrote this RIGHT NOW and you're getting it RIGHT NOW so. I'm sorry and thank you for reading and I love all of you very much


	15. Chapter 15

Moving in together hadn’t been a simple decision - it was important to the both of them that it was undertaken carefully, and with a lot of thought. Moving in together  _ wasn’t _ a fresh start, they’d been together in all other ways for over four months now, but it was still vital that it was treated with the importance it deserved. 

Rona hadn’t had a home he had felt was  _ his _ since his early teen years. Had been flighty and fighty, had made homes in people instead of places even when he desperately  _ needed _ to be able to lay himself down and feel at peace while alone. He had loved living with Gansey and Blue, had truly and honestly loved it, but it wasn’t home. It was their home, and he was living in it, no matter how much they included him in everything, it was their home. 

-

They had actually  _ bought _ the house. That had also been a topic of much discussion. Adam hadn’t wanted to spend so much money all at once, Ronan had almost needed to, for the certainty it would bring. It hadn’t been a cause of fights, which was nice. It turned out they could discuss things from opposite sides without having to get pissy about it, and in the end Adam had agreed with Ronan. 

It was important that Ronan could feel a sense of belonging, and if owning the house would give him that, then Adam was happy to put aside his worries about hasty decisions, because, quite honestly, this wasn’t a hasty decision. 

It was small, but not cramped. Small enough that they’d never feel alone while the two of them were at home, but big enough that they’d never feel penned in while the two of them were home. 

-

“We’re never moving,” Adam informed Ronan the night after a long day of moving in. 

They’d hired movers, but their whole gang had wanted to be a part of it as well, so they’re had been many feet to get under, and many hands making work light and ridiculous as well. Once the movers had finished, the lot of them - Gansey, Blue, Henry, Declan, Matthew, - had gotten take aways and eaten at the beautiful wooden table Declan had turned up with claiming it as a housewarming gift. After their ‘guests’ had left, Adam and Ronan had put their bed together, thrown their clothes on the floor, and climbed on, exhausted. 

“Mhm, Ronan grumbled, his arm over his head, lying on his stomach, his other hand resting on the mattress by Adam’s hand. “Until you get a job out of the city.” 

“Nah,” Adam mumbled back, flipped his own hand over so he could press his fingers to Ronan’s palm. “I’ll just commute every day. I don’t care if it’s twelve hours each way.” 

Ronan snorted, entwined their fingers together and tugged Adam’s hand close so he could kiss it. 

Adam sighed, a breath of relief almost, closed his eyes, lashes dusty against their fresh and crisp pillowcases. 

“We can decide on your commute when the day comes,” Ronan said, breathed against Adam’s palm. “We don’t need to think about any possible moves yet.” 

“Hm,” Adam agreed, then wriggled a little so he could throw one leg over the back of Ronan’s thigh. What about this move?” 

“Acceptable,” Ronan nodded, kissed at Adam’s palm. 

Adam shifted more, so half of his body was lying on half of Ronan’s, his arm curled around so that Ronan could still hold his hand, his head tipped so he could kiss Ronan’s cheek. 

“Welcome home, honey,” Adam said in between cheek kisses, sprinkling them all down Ronan’s face, up to his temple, down to his jaw. 

“Pff,” Ronan huffed, rolled the both of them over in one easy move, caught Adam and tugged him closer so that they were flush, stomach to stomach. “Welcome home, yourself,  _ sugar lips _ .” 

“I’m not taking that as an insult,” Adam informed him, pressed his sugar lips to Ronan’s perfectly normal lips, kissed him softly.

“Wasn’t meant as one,” Ronan replied, kissed Adam back, shifted so his hip bones weren’t digging right down against Adam’s, so he could push his thigh in between Adam’s legs. 

Adam closed his eyes while Ronan readjusted their positioning, his hands resting lightly on Ronan’s upper arms, his body relaxed underneath him. 

“Did you unpack the lube?” Ronan asked, once Adam’s leg was hooked over his hip, the both of their chests beginning to heave a little at the press of heat between them.

“Uh, Adam said, squinted down between their bodies, then slid his hand down after his gaze so he could wrap his fingers loosely around their cocks, paused for a few seconds as Ronan thrust lazily in and out of the circle of his hand. “Uh,” Adam said again. “No. The only time I’ve been up here until now, was when Henry tried to help me unpack the wardrobe, and I didn’t want to have to discuss artisan lube brands with him.” 

“Understandable,” Ronan grunted. He had been leaning over Adam, the one hand on Adam’s thigh by his hip, the other holding him up, pressed into the mattress by Adam’s shoulder. Now he held himself up with core alone as he cupped Adam’s face to kiss him before speaking again. “It’s in here somewhere, though, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Adam nodded, his mouth still against Ronan’s. “In the box labeled ‘personals’.” 

“Okay,” Ronan said, and then he was off of Adam, off of the bed, crouching down in front of the still unpacked boxes by the bedroom door. 

Adam shifted to sit up on his elbows, watched as Ronan pried open a box and began sifting through it. The back of Ronan’s neck was all red, his flush spreading - Adam knew - from his nape, to his ears, to his chest and cheeks. Ronan always ran hot, his skin always warm against Adam’s, but he was hotter still like this, almost radiating heat, a thermal path for Adam’s lips. 

Ronan stood up, triumphant, lube held aloft in one hand, condoms in the other, cock heavy between his legs. He returned to the bed, to Adam, as quickly as he had left, the mattress bouncing a little in his wake. 

Despite his eager return, he had left a little of the hastiness this had started with back at the boxes, his hands on Adam’s skin were gentle and slow, his breathing almost even. 

“What do you want?” Adam asked him, reaching up to cup Ronan’s face above him, to run his thumb over Ronan’s lower lip. 

In lieu of (or as) reply, Ronan gripped Adam’s wrist, angled his hand a little more so he could suck Adam’s thumb into his mouth, made a soft, deep noise as Adam went with him and pressed his pad down against Ronan’s tongue. 

“Yeah?” Adam asked, drew his thumb back to Ronan’s lips, ran it wet across Ronan’s upper lip, and then pressed two fingertips against Ronan’s lower lips until Ronan opened his mouth for them too. “Is this all you want?” 

Ronan bit him, not hard, just enough to leave a quickly fading indent, dragged himself away from Adam’s fingers with a slightly slutty sounding  _ pop _ . “No,” he said, snorted, kissed Adam, far too wet, all their movements sounding more and more provocative. “I want all of you, always.” 

-

This wasn’t the first time Ronan had said this to Adam, just like this wasn’t the first time Adam’s heart and beat harder at these words, just like this wasn’t the first time Adam had said them back. 

Adam had said it first, accidentally forever linking this quick affirmation to sex. 

The first time that they had gone further then kissing like their lives depended on it - they had seen each other naked often before this, in and out of showers, getting dressed, going to bed. They had even been pressed together skin to skin before- Ronan had been uncharacteristically shy about it that time. He had slid under Adam’s sheets, like Adam hadn’t already memorised the angle of his hips, the ragged scars, the line of his upper thighs. 

Adam had understood. Had slid under the sheets next to Ronan and covered him with his own body as well, had kissed Ronan’s lips, his neck, his shoulders, down his chest until Ronan had pushed the sheet down further of his own accord, until he was revealed down to his hips. 

“What if I fucking -” Ronan had mumbled, his hands gripping Adam by the waist, dragging them together. “What if I fucking freak out. What if I freak out -” 

“Then we stop,” Adam had replied, ducked to kiss Ronan’s shoulder, right by the little nearly moon shaped scar. “Then we stop and we try again another day.” 

“But you  _ want _ this.” This hadn’t been a question, this had been Ronan lifting himself up against Adam, so their dicks were less roommates and more bedmates.

“Of course,” Adam hadn’t seen any point in denying this at all. He wanted Ronan in all the ways he could have him. “I wanna have sex with you. I wanna do everything with you. But I’ve told you before, we don’t ever have to do anything like this.” 

Ronan had huffed, had shifted irritably underneath Adam, had kissed him hard. Adam let him for a moment, let him have the short while to gather his thoughts before trying again. 

“What if,” Ronan had mumbled, eyes closed, hands dragging up and down Adam’s back. “What if I can’t make it good?” 

Adam had needed a few moments to parse that one, to figure that Ronan wasn’t worried about not making  _ Adam _ feel good, wasn’t worried about Adam not making  _ Ronan _ feel good, was worried that there was something he’d turned off inside of him that was just - was just - a pleasure to pain converter. Maybe. 

“Then we stop,” Adam had repeated, rolled the both of them onto their sides. “We’ve talked about this, Ro. If it doesn’t feel good, physically, mentally, meta-physically, whatever, we stop. We talk about it.” 

Ronan grunted, unhappy with this reminder, had shut his eyes and not opened them until Adam had rubbed his thumb underneath them, had moved in closer to kiss the bridge of his nose. 

“What’s really wrong?” Adam had whispered. 

“What if I like it too much?” Ronan had whispered back. “Wouldn’t that be so fucked up of me? Shit, Adam, I’ve spent so much time feeling - feeling so fucked up about sex - but I want it with you so much. I don’t - what if you think I’ve been faking how I felt about it? What if you think I’m faking enjoying it? What if you think I’m faking enjoying it for the good and not the bad?” 

That had been something they hadn’t discussed. Not even at all. Adam hadn’t realised it was something that had been eating Ronan, hadn’t even thought to bring it up. 

“Fuck, babe,” he had whispered back, kissed the corners of Ronan’s eyes. “I’m  _ not _ going to think you’re fucked up if you love fucking. I’m not - I know how hard you’ve worked to feel okay again. I know how much work you’ve done. And I  _ trust _ you to tell me, honestly, how you feel about anything we do. I’m going to believe you when you tell me how you feel.” 

“What if you hate how I feel?” 

“I want all of you, always,” Adam had replied, fervent, “I want the you that tells me that I’m bad at sex, or bad at making you feel good at sick. I wanna learn everything about you even as you change.” 

Ronan sniffed.

They hadn’t had sex that night. They hadn’t  _ not _ had sex either. They had kissed until the tears were gone, kissed until their breath had grown heavier. 

-

“Its nice,” Ronan admitted, nearly a full week after having moved into his and Adam’s place. He’s sitting further over on the couch at Kit’s than he usually does because he wants to be sitting in the patch of sun. “It’s - I know I said it was so important to me to get a place that felt like home to me, but it’s - I think if Adam moved out right now it wouldn’t be my home anymore.” 

“Well,” Kit said, “no. But what if Adam was away for a week?” 

“I’d miss him,” Ronan said, cleared his throat quickly. 

Kit smiled at him, but rephrased. “I meant,” they said. “Would it still feel like home without him there?” 

Ronan considered. He hadn’t spent longer than half a day in their house by himself yet. “Yes,” he eventually decided on. “Yeah. I think so. But I still don’t - I feel like an idiot for making it about the house when it’s obviously about him, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t think so,” Kit shook their head. “We’ve talked a lot about how you felt about moving in with him, about how you needed to do it. You picked this house with him, you both chose it. It makes it a house that belongs to both of you. It makes sense that if he didn’t live there, it would not longer be the house you chose together.” 

Ronan frowned, conceded, nodded. 

“So,” Kit said, plucked their glasses off and put them on top of their head. “How’s uni going?” 

Ronan frowned again, picked at a knot in his new leather bracelet - a moving in gift from Adam (along with a fucking great orgasm, a lot of kisses, and the promise of fucking spending  _ years _ at the very least together). “It’s fine,” he said. 

“Just fine?” 

“It’s still weird,” Ronan grunted. “I like my classes. I like that I’m near Adam. I like the structure it gives me. I even like some of my classmates, it’s just.” 

Kit gave him a few more moments to frown at the wall, and then threw one of the (mouse shaped) stress balls on the back of her chair at him. 

“Just what?” 

Ronan bared his teeth in faux annoyance, then squeezed the mouse. It squeaked just a little. “Adam’s always having to remind me I’m good enough. I’m always so fucking - so fucking - I’ve told you about how - shit, - about how I need him to be like, stupidly verbal when we’re… in bed. I feel like I’m constantly making him compliment me. Like I’m fishing for it. And so - I keep - I’ve been trying my best not to ask for reassurance about this, because - because. I don’t know. Study, and uni, it’s his thing, y’know? What if he  _ doesn’t _ think I’m good enough for it. I’m doing complex classes. What if my stupid anxiety over being unfit for this is real.” 

Kit sighed. Ronan squeaked the mouse. 

“Tell me how you got into uni, again?” 

Ronan cleared his throat, felt his cheeks heat up. Not that there was anything to blush about. 

“I did the fucking entrance exam,” he grumbled, “Sent in a fucking essay.” 

“Mm,” Kit nodded. “And what did your acceptance letter say?” 

Ronan glared at the floor. “That they wanted to fast track me into an honours program and to offer me a fucking scholarship.” 

“Okay,” Kit nodded again. “Cool. Now, if Adam got that entrance letter -” 

“He kinda did,” Ronan butted in. 

“Okay,” Kit rolled their eyes. “What would you say to him if he needed reassurance?” 

Ronan knew exactly how this was a trap, but he was cursed to be unable to express how fucking damn clever Parrish was. 

“That he’s a fucking genius,” he mumbled, “and that he worked his butt off for that admission, and he should just fucking swallow and say thanks, and then go shove it in everyone’s faces.” 

“Hm,” Kit said, sounding amused but like they didn’t want to let Ronan know how amused they were. “So, judging by how open you and Adam try to be about how you feel, and how much you love each other, what makes you think that that isn’t exactly what Adam would say to you?” 

-

“Parrish,” Ronan grunted while he and Adam were packing to go away for the long weekend for Declan’s wedding. 

Adam folded a pair of pants, and then appeared to realise that Ronan was not going to follow up with anything. “Mhm?” 

“Y’know,” Ronan said, chucked a couple of pairs of socks at their open suitcase. “How sometimes we complain about those idiots around uni who obviously got in on their parents’ dime?” 

“Uh-huh,” Adam said, placed Ronan’s socks carefully into the section he’d obviously decided was for socks. “The ones with buildings named after them.” 

“Mm.” 

“What about them?” 

“D’you think,” Ronan cleared his throat to buy some more time. “D’you think any of them think that about me?” 

“Huh?” Adam looked up, batted the suitcase lid down so they could see each other. “Think you have a building named after you?” 

“Sure.” 

“Uh,” Adam looked confused. “No? It’s not like you go around telling people you’re rich as all fuck. Besides. We only say that about the idiots he don’t seem to know anything about their course.” 

Ronan didn’t reply. 

“Lynch,” Adam said, said it very carefully. “Hey.” 

Ronan raised his eyebrows, as if to say, fucking hey yourself. As if to say this wasn’t something that had been playing on his mind. 

“Ro,” Adam said, not fooled by Ronan’s eyebrows in the slightest. “I’ve seen your work. Hell, even if I hadn’t, I just have to hear you talk about your classes to know you’re one of the fucking smartest ones in it. You got in on your own merits, and no one is gonna think any different.” 

Ronan still tried to play this off lightly. “Nah,” he said, “they probably think I got in because I’m screwing Harvard’s top student.” 

“You’re screwing Mclaughan?” Adam shot back, wry, laughed as Ronan made a disgusted face. “Hey,” Adam said again. “Where’s this coming from?” 

“Nowhere,” Ronan grunted. 

“Somewhere,” Adam contested. “I didn’t know you were feeling --- unsure about this.” 

“I feel unsure about everything,” Ronan replied grumpily, “it’s my fucking constant state of being.” 

Adam zipped the suitcase up, shuffled on his bum around it until his feet were in Ronan’s lap. 

“Does it help if I tell you how sure I am that you’re doing great?” he asked, voice gentle. “Does it help if I remind you that you were 100% sure you wanted waffles for lunch three days in a row and you were right?” 

Ronan shrugged. He’d clear his throat again, but it was getting a bit sore from doing that so much. 

“I’m your boyfriend,” Adam said, as if that was something he needed to remind Ronan about. “Whatever you need I wanna give you. If it’s reassurance? I wanna give it to you.” 

“Just the truth, thanks,” Ronan said. 

“Always,” Adam assured him. “Everything I’ve said to you here is the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you about  _ you _ Ronan.” 

Ronan shrugged again. “I want us to be able to be more balanced,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to constantly be the one fucking looking after me.” 

Adam looked at him for a long moment, and then moved forwards again so he was all but sitting in Ronan’s lap, his legs on either side of Ronan’s hips, his hands on Ronan’s face. 

“I love our relationship,” he said. “I love how you ground me. How you cook for me. How you listen to me. I get as much out of this as you do. Sometimes one of us going to need more of the love and attention at a time and that’s fine too. It’s give and take.” 

“I want to be  _ better _ .” 

“You are,” Adam said, kissed the corner of his mouth. “And you keep getting better. There’s no end, to getting better, babe. I’m sore. I wish there was. But you’re never going to be the  _ best _ , because you’ll always see things that you want to be better. You’re the best you’ve been for a while, and that’s amazing. Better has ups and downs.” 

“Fuck,” Ronan said, “you been reading self help books?” 

“Maybe,” Adam said, kissed the other corner of his mouth. “Or maybe I should write them?” 

“Maybe you should kiss me properly?” Ronan replied, wrapped his arms around Adam’s back. “I’m thoroughly reassured now.” 

-

Despite being Declan’s best man, Ronan had handed off the duty of running the stag party to one of Declan’s more sensible friends from the groomsmen party. He hadn’t been able to shirk the best man’s speech though, not that he had really wanted to. 

He had stood by Declan during the service, had kept his eyes mostly on Adam in the crowd, except when Declan had needed him to be best mannish. He had smiled for all the photos, especially the ones in which he got to have Adam with him, especially the ones he got to have Adam and all his friends with him, especially the one with him and Declan and Ashley and Matthew - the Lynches (so far). 

Declan - much to a lot of his friends’ distaste - had opted for a dry wedding. All everyone got was mocktails and sparkling grape juice, which meant that nobody was even vaguely too sloshed not to pay attention to the speeches, which meant that Ronan had to get up there in front of over a hundred idiots in suits. 

Declan had told him to keep the speech short and sweet, Matthew had requested he put in the story where Declan had accidentally dyed his hair bright pink, Ashley had said he should aim to make Declan cry - in a  _ good _ way of course. 

Adam had given him a lot of advice, but it had mostly been in the form of kisses. He searched him out now, finding Adam’s face easily in the crowd because; A. he knew exactly where Adam was sitting seeing as of course, and because he’d been over there a lot already tonight, and B. because it was  _ Adam _ , he would be able to find his face in the dark in a canyon with his eyes shut. 

Ashley’s maid of honour Rosaline handed him the mic, his cue to fucking stand up and not act like an idiot. 

They had practiced this the night previous, though no one had given their speeches, had just done the microphone check. 

“Okay, so,” Ronan said, resisted the urge to follow Matthew’s advice and just blurt out a compilation of Declan’s most embarrassing moments. “Most of you can probably tell that I’m Declan’s brother. Ronan. Best man. Yup, got the role through nepotism. Really he should’a asked Matty, he’s the prettiest of us all. Uh. I’m supposed to thank you all for coming, but like, you get to dress up and eat nice food and attend a party, so, you’re welcome. Sorry Dec. Ha. 

Look. When I was a stupid kid, growing up with Dec, I thought he was the least fuc-fricking - sorry kids - the least romantic guy in the world. Thought he was too sensible and - and bossy. Busy. I did my best really to drive him completely up the world with being a very, uh, bratty younger brother. 

Course, when I was even younger, I thought the sun shone out his butt, so. Uh. I uh, I went through a really shitty patch for a long time. Declan took me in. I stayed with him for months while he - while he patched me up, basically. Poor Ashley, she just gets engaged, and then Dec’s stinky brother moves in? Sorry, Ash. 

Uh. Anyway. Declan patched me up. And he did. He really did. He got me back on my feet. Uh - hugged me when I needed it. Didn’t stop being a bit of a stiff bastard, but - but he was - he showed me - he - uh.” 

Fuck. he had to pause a moment to glare at the ceiling. He could see Declan out of the corner of his eye, reaching out to rest his hand against his back. Not pulling him to sit back down. 

“Declan’s good at looking after people,” Ronan said to the light fixings above them. “And he’s still a hardcase, but he’s - he knows when to be gentle. So. You’re really lucky, Ash, because I can promise you that if you ever feel like falling apart, Dec knows how to help you put yourself back together, and he’s never gonna - he’s never gonna give up on you. He’s loyal to a goddamned fault. Plus. I had to help him choose all sorts of little fancy details for the wedding, so I know now how freaking romantic he is. So. Yeah. 

Uh. Anyway. Congrats you guys. Ash, I think you’re great. Dec, I still think you suck a bit, but. Yeah. Love you both. Right. Done.” 

He sat down quickly, his face way too hot, his jacket prickly with sweat. It was very irritating to him that he couldn’t pull that off with the kind of cool detached nonchalance that would have made him look a lot less… messy. Declan reached over, took his hand, squeezed it tight. Waited until Ronan looked up at him. 

“I love you too, shit head,” he said fondly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting! 
> 
> So now I've finished actually writing this thing - 
> 
> The dream that this is from was really fucking funny to me, because half way through it doubled back like, wait up, here's a different version of it. I wrote the different version of it, but the FIRST version went a bit like this; 
> 
> Ronan is fucked up, he's found the same way, stays with Declan, then with Gansey just the same. Goes out and drinks and is found by Adam just the same.   
Is horribly offended by the thought that Adam might have thought he had been on drugs. Goes around to impress upon Adam that he's weaned himself off of drugs so long as he can get fucked instead. Adam impresses back that that sounded like a bit of a fucked up choice if he was going to bars to pick up. Ronan suggests that maybe Ronan liked fucked up. Adam suggests there could be an easier way. Ronan suggests Adam fucks him instead. Adam fucks Ronan. They both fuck a lot. Eventually all the feelings about it explode. It's messy. They don't wanna be fuck buddies. And then my dream loops back and starts again with the alternate version.


End file.
